


Daughter of Dragons and Wolves

by HouseNaelgyreon



Series: Daughter of Dragons and Wolves [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Dorne, Dragons, Drama, Duty, Duty before love, F/F, F/M, Family, Fantasy, Game of Thrones - After Season 8, Heartbreaking, Honor, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Killing, King - Freeform, Kings & Queens, Lions, Lord of Light - Freeform, Love, Meereen, Multi, Night Terrors, Old Gods, Past Pain, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Polyandry, Polygamy, Princess - Freeform, Queen - Freeform, R Plus L Equals J, Royalty, Sacrifice, Thriller, Tragedy, Truth, Volantis, War, Warging, Westeros, Westerosi Politics, Winter, Wolves, dragonlord, prince - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 42
Words: 120,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseNaelgyreon/pseuds/HouseNaelgyreon
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen has always been a survivor, there was no denying that...After Jon plunged a dagger in her heart, believing himself to be saving the Realm, Westeros thought that they had seen the last of the last pure decendant of Old Valyria. Holding her in his claws, Drogon flew the one place he believed would help his Mother: Volantis. Brought back to life by the Red Priests, Daenerys was content in returning to Meereen and ruling as Queen; with her and Jon's daughter as her heir: Rhyaenna.But the same fire to reclaim Westeros that once burned within Daenerys, now burns with Rhyaenna. Claiming a son of a wealthy Braavosi House as a husband as well as a younger son of the Prince of Dorne, Rhyaenna will not make the same mistakes as her Mother. Westeros thought that it had seen the last of the Targaryens, it just ignited the fire of another Conquest.





	1. PROLOUGE

Daenerys thought that she was safe in His arms.

She thought that He would understand. After all these years, she had finally done it. So many men had tried to kill her, Dany couldn’t remember their names.

Dany had been sold as a broodmare.

Dany had been shamed and betrayed.

Dany had been raped and defiled.

And she had survived it all.

Now, Dany had done it, she had done the single thing that her fool of a brother couldn’t do. She had reclaimed her home, and become the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

When she heard the doors and saw Him, Dany rushed into His arms. She begged Him to join her, to help her liberate those enslaved by this cruel world. He seemed to agree, He said that she would always be His queen; before pulling her close and kissing her deeply.

Then, Dany felt it.

The sharp sting of something entering her chest, the metallic burning of a dagger being pushed deep into her heart.

He had stabbed her.

Dany looked at Him in disbelief, unable to believe that He would betray her. Dany had trusted Him, she thought that He understood.

As the darkness began to close in, Dany fought will all her will power to not sink into it. Her eyes closed, she could feel Him lift her in His arms, sobbing burning tears that fell upon her clothes.

“Forgive me,” He whispered repeatedly. “Please… Forgive me…Forgive me…”

Dany couldn’t speak, blood bubbled in her mouth, filling her lungs as the darkness finally encased her. In the distance she could hear her Child roaring, she could hear her Child screaming in anguish over the loss of his mother.

There was a low rumbling, that Dany knew was her Child taking a deep breath, then heat blasting the side of her face. Her Child was burning something… but Dany did not know what it was. Within the darkness surrounding her, Dany could see a light in the distance, she could hear a voice beckoning her towards it…

Then, she was weightless. Her Child has taken to the sky, carrying her to parts unknown.

* * *

 

It is known that the birthplace of the Red Priests of R’hollor was the city of Volantis. Here, the followers of the Lord of Light were plentiful, they gathered without consequence to worship their Lord.

A Red Priestess, Kinvara, sat in front of the Great Altar, whispering her prayers to her Lord and Master. As she stared into the flames, she saw what appeared to be the fluttering of bat’s wings.

No…Kinvara frowned. That wasn’t right. Those weren’t bat’s wings, those were dragon’s wings!

The Red Priestess quickly rose to her feet, hurrying away as the cries of Drogon filled the air. Temple to R’hollor had no roof or ceiling, as the Red Priests believed it allowed them to be closer to their god. At the sound of the dragon’s cries, the other praying Priests and Priestess quickly ran from the Great Altar, as Drogon landed in front of the Great Altar.

Kinvara pushed her way to the front, although she dared not get too close to the dragon. Dragons were believed to be fire made flesh, and the Lord of Light was known as the God of Flame and Shadow. There was a reason why Kinvara and her fellow High Priests spent hours, staring into the flames.

Drogon’s golden eyes stared at the people before him, who seemed frightened but also calm at the same time. He didn’t know what drew him here, but some part of him believed that only they could save her.

Carefully, Drogon extended his claws, revealing Daenerys’s now-cold body. He locked eyes with the Red Priestess in the front, a silent conversation between them, before he spread his wings and took off into the sky.

The second that Drogon was gone, Kinvara rushed forward and touched Daenerys’s cheek. She was as cold as death, her eyes closed in a way that made her look as if she was sleeping. Yet the dagger in Daenerys’s heart told Kinvara otherwise.

“Give me a hand,” Kinvara barked to the temple slaves. “Help me undress her! We don’t have a lot of time!”

The dozen or so flame-tattooed slaves did as she commanded. Carefully, they lifted Daenerys in their hands, carrying her to the foot of the Great Altar. With gentle hands, they removed the dagger from her heart, placed it aside, and stripped her of her clothes. Dressing her into a simple white gown, Kinvara took her place at the front of the altar.

Word had spread of what Daenerys had done to defeat the Others, how she fought bravely to save the world from eternal darkness and snow. Kinvara did not know who had gotten close to this mighty queen to kill her, but she knew that it was her duty to bring Daenerys back.

The surrounding Red Priests and Priestess all circled the Great Altar. They began to chant, their eyes rolling in their back of their heads as they swayed to the sound of drums only they could hear.

Kinvara carefully cut a small lock of Daenerys’s hair, then began to toss a single strand at a time into a small brazier. Once all the hair was gone, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

_Āeksiot Ōño…_

_Āeksiot Ōño…_

_Rȳbagon īlva brōzagon…_

_Maghagon arlī se dārilaros bona iksin promised…_

_Ābrar iksis warmth, se warmth iksis perzys…_

_Perzys iksis aōhon se aōhon mērī…_

Kinvara’s voice echoed as she spoke, the shadows from the flames danced on the walls to create obscure images. As the final words left Kinvara’s lips, she cut her thumb and pressed the bloody print to Daenerys’s forehead.

Then, all grew silent.

The only sound in the temple was that of the crackling flames, nobody moved, nobody breathed as they held their breath. They were still for unknown people of the time, no one daring to move. Then, Dany gasped. Her eyes widening as she shot up, her hand quickly going to her heart, but the dagger was gone.

The last thing that Dany remembered was Him, plunging the dagger into her heart. Now, both He and the dagger were gone. She was surrounded by people with red paint on their faces, dressed in flowing red robes; but it was the fire that burned in their eyes that made Dany begin to scream in fright.

“My Queen,” Kinvara said softly, brushing the hair from Daenerys’s face to calm her. “Please… Please be still, be at peace. You are in Volantis, and you are safe here. You… and your child.”


	2. CHAPTER I: THE DRAGON AND THE WOLF

Jon Snow forced himself to smile as the smallfolk of the north cheered and waved at him. Men, women, and children lined the streets, cheering for the man they believed had saved the realm.

But only Jon knew the true story. Only he knew the true cost of this so-called freedom.

“The people still love their Lord Snow,” a deep voice to his side said, tearing Jon from his thoughts.

“Tormund,” Jon said. “I’m not a lord or anything like that.”

“But you always will be in the hearts of these people,” Tormund replied. “And that’s all that really matters.”

‘Is that all that really mattered?’ Jon wondered to himself, looking out at the smiling faces.

He should be happy, he should be honored at what he was about to do. The Queen of the North had summoned him to Winterfell, to discuss the Wildlings and the Night’s Watch.

‘But I already had a Queen… I had a queen… and I killed her.’

The great walls of Winterfell loomed over him and Tormund as they entered the courtyard; the ancient castle having both repaired and gotten larger from the last time Jon saw it. From the looks of it now, Jon figured that it had more than doubled in size, as it now served as the royal residence of Queen Sansa.

“So… you sister never married… did she?” Tormund asked Jon, as they pulled their horses to a stop.

“No, the rumor is she hasn’t,” Jon replied. Only he knew the true pain that Sansa had suffered, pain that had pushed out any thoughts of a loving marriage or siring children.

“…She’s kissed by fire like me,” Tormund was saying. “Maybe we can find an… understanding.”

That made Jon, for the first time, smile. The thought of Sansa being seduced by Tormund made a deep chuckle rumbled in his throat. Tormund was a man who had a different woman in his bed every night, as he appeared to have quickly gotten over Brienne. He wasn’t the type of man that Jon knew could be tamed, but then again, maybe Sansa could do it.

A servant, wearing a black and white livery with the Stark direwolf on the collar was waiting for them. The man looked down at Tormund from his turned up nose, a sight that made Jon frown.

He thought that by now the prejudice against the Wildlings would have changed. But it appeared such deeply rooted hatred might not ever change.

“Her Grace is waiting for you in the throne room,” the Servant said, turning on his heel and leading them into the magnificent castle.

There were more people here than Jon remembered growing up. He had to remind himself that Winterfell was now a royal palace and not just the residence of the Warden of the North. Now, a queen lived within these walls, and Jon was going to have to remember to show the proper respect.

Northern soldiers lined the halls, but as Jon and Tormund followed the servant, a couple of them gave brief nods of their heads.

They still remembered him.

The doors to the Great Hall opened, and there, sitting on a large throne, sat Her Grace, Sansa Stark, Queen of the North.

* * *

 

Sansa hadn’t changed much, in these twenty years, since Jon had seen her last. Her face still reminded him of her mother, Catelyn, she was calm and collected like her father, Ned Stark. But from the light of the crackling fire behind him, Jon could see slight changes that weren’t there before.

The corners of Sansa’s eyes were wrinkled, her lips were thinning, her once shining red hair had wisps of grey within it. She was growing older, just like everyone else. She might be Queen of the North, but she could not conquer one thing, and that was time.

“Bow before Her Grace,” the Servant whisper-yelled to Jon and Tormund as they entered the Great Hall.

Jon did not have to be reminded, instantly dropping to one knee. However, Tormund had to be yanked down, the Wildling still wasn’t used to such pageantry.

“Rise,” Sansa said, her tone cool and calm.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jon said, standing before her.

“Thank ya,” Tormund said as well.

Jon had to hold back his laugh, and by the look of Sansa, he could tell that she was as well.

“Welcome, Lord Commander Snow, to Winterfell,” Sansa said as if this was not once Jon’s home. “You and your friend are welcome here. My hearth and your hearth.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jon said. “You are most kind.”

“I summoned you here, to discuss the matter of the Night’s Watch and the Wildlings,” Sansa said. “How are they liking their new home?”

“Since the fall of the Night King, the land has returned to it’s natural, green state,” Jon replied.

“We don’t have to hunt anymore,” Tormund interrupted. “Well, not as much as we used to. Now we do what you Southerners call… what’s it again, Snow?”

“Farming,” Jon replied, turning back to Sansa. “They have learned to farm. I don’t spend as much time as I used too, with them, when I was getting them settled. But at least twice a month I go out and check on their progress.”

“Good,” Sansa said, nodding with approval. “And the Night’s Watch.”

“He had a hard time at first, learning what to do now that we no longer have to Watch for the White Walkers,” Jon explained. “But now, the men go to the villages and help the smallfolk. I thank you for providing us with new supplies, and His Grace King Bran with the men. We would not be able to achieve success without either of you.”

“The pleasure is mine, and I am sure that Bran feels the same way,” Sansa said. “You both must be very tired, from the long ride. Rooms have been prepared for you, my manservant will show you the way.”

Jon bowed to her once again, before following the man out.

* * *

 

As night fell upon Winterfell, Jon found himself tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep.

Normally Ghost would cuddle close to him, and Jon would fall asleep listening to the beating of his companion's heart. But he had left Ghost back at Castle Black, to defend it, in case something happened.

Jon didn’t know if it was the bed, the furs, or the terrible memories that Winterfell brought. What he did know, was that he couldn’t stay in the bed anymore, he needed to get up, he needed to walk around.

Shoving the furs aside, Jon pulled on his pants, a loose shirt, and tucked a knife into his boot before leaving his rooms. He wondered the walls of Winterfell before finding himself on the battlements, gazing out into the darkness.

_Twenty-one years ago… that’s how long it’s been since the Night King was defeated…_

_Twenty-one years ago… that’s how long it’s been since he saw Her face…_

_Twenty-one years ago… that’s how long it’s been since he killed Her…_

A cold shiver shot up Jon’s spine, as he remembered the look of betrayal that Daenerys wore when she saw his dagger extending from her chest. Jon had told himself that it was the right thing to do, that the Dany he had loved, the Dany he wanted to grow old with… had died the moment she set fire to King’s Landing. The Dany that had replaced her was a murderer, was a killer, she was plotting to kill him as well.

‘But she didn’t…’ Jon thought to himself. ‘She had the chance… Drogon had the chance… but neither did. Both let me live. Both believed in me… Why could I not believe in Her?’

For years, Jon had been haunted by his decision. Jon believed in Tyrion, he believed that he was right in killing Daenerys. But Jon’s remembrance of how she refused to defend herself, how Drogon refused to burn him to a crisp, was stuck in his mind.

‘I find myself hoping that you’re still alive,’ Jon thought to himself. ‘I pray to the Old Gods for you, every day… my Dany… I pray that you are safe, that you are protected and if you have a new life, that you have the one thing you’ve always wanted: a family.’

* * *

 

The burning Meereenese sun beat down upon the bare back of Rhyaenna. The Princess was sunbathing in her mother’s lush gardens, located on the upper levels of the Great Pyramid. The sun felt good on her skin, in fact, Rhyaenna had bathed so much in its golden glow that her mother teased she was turning as dark as one of the Meereenese citizens.

Here, on this private balcony, Rhyaenna could escape the pressures of being royalty. Here, Rhyaenna was just a normal girl. She wasn’t the Crown Princess, the future Queen of the Kingdom of Meereen. Here, Rhyaenna was just Rhyaenna.

The sound of sandals slapping against the tiles stirred Rhyaenna from her light nap, the Princess slowly opening one eye to find a Servant Girl pressing her forehead to the ground. Rhyaenna had heard the stories that Meereen used to be a great city, built upon the backs of slavery. It was the largest of the Slaver Cities of Slaver’s Bay, ruled that way for thousands of years… and in less than fifty it was whipped from the face of the earth.

There was one person responsible for this, and that was Rhyaenna’s mother: Daenerys Targaryen.

Rhyaenna did not know all the details, but before her birth, the records said that Daenerys came to Meereen upon the back of her great dragon and freed the slaves. Then, after Rhyaenna was born, her mother turned her attention to the other two cities: Astapor and Yunkai; conquering them both.

Now, Daenerys ruled over all three.

“What is it?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Her Magnificence asks for you,” the Servant Girl said, referring to Rhyaenna’s mother. “She waits for you in the throne room.”

Rhyaenna sighed, wondering what her mother could want. Normally this was the time that Daenerys spent handling petitioners, and Rhyaenna would see her later in the evenings. Standing up, Rhyaenna stretched out her hands, waiting as her servant girls dressed her in a simple, purple and white dress before fixing her hair. Once Rhyaenna was presentable, she followed the Servant Girl who had summoned her to the throne room of the Great Pyramid.

Queen Daenerys sat at the top of the large throne, her armed guards standing at her side; ready to defend her at the first sign of danger. When the doors opened, Daenerys couldn’t help but smile, as her pride and joy walked into the throne room. Lifting the edge of her purple and gold dress, Daenerys hurried down the stairs before sweeping Rhyaenna into her arms.

“ _Dōna mēre_ ,” Daenerys said, tucking an escaped strand of midnight-black hair behind the ear of her daughter. “You’ve been sunbathing again.”

“I cannot help it, _muña_ ,” Rhyaenna said, using the High Valyrian word for ‘mother’. “I love the feeling of warmth upon my skin.”

Daenerys smiled. “You are the true, Blood of the Dragon. Heat and fire are where you find comfort, my child.”

For as long as she could remember, Rhyaenna had always had a complex relationship with her mother. She loved her mother, would die for her mother, but at the same time; Rhyaenna couldn’t help but feel her mother was keeping secrets from her. Rhyaenna didn’t know if it was secrets that her Mother refused to tell her or secrets that she wasn’t ready too.

“Why did you summon me?” Rhyaenna asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

Daenerys shook her head and tucking Rhyaenna’s arm in hers as they walked down the halls. “I summoned you because I wanted to check in on you… and show you something. Something that I know that you will thank me for. But until then, I had to ask, how are you, My child?”

Daenerys watched Rhyaenna out of the corner of her eye, listening to her daughter talk about all that she’s done for the day. However, whenever Daenerys looked at her daughter, she found the face of her love staring back of her.

_Jon…_

He was the last thing that Daenerys remembered before the darkness of death had enclosed around her. Jon was the one who had stabbed her, begging her to forgive him as she felt her lungs fill with blood.

Yet Daenerys did not know the answer to that. He had given Daenerys her greatest treasure, he had given her Rhyaenna, but could she forgive him? She didn’t even know why he had killed her, nor did she know why she was brought back; but this Lord of Light was the reason why she and her child survived. And oh… how Rhyaenna looked like and reminded Daenerys of Jon.

She could almost be his twin. Rhyaenna possessed his stance, his brooding face whenever she never got her way, his midnight-black hair, the shape of his eyes and nose. Even her name, Rhyaenna, was a tribute to his parents: Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. The only thing that Rhyaenna possess of Jon’s was her eyes. Her eyes were the color of Old Valyria, violet, marking her as a true Targaryen.

Jon had missed everything; her first words, her first steps, her first temper tantrum when Daenerys refused to give her a sweet before bed.

Daenerys wondered if he was still alive, as she had no contact with Westeros, and preferred to keep it that way. She was content with ruling all of Slavery’s Bay, now titled as the Bay of Dragons. Daenerys had given it this new title before she left for Westeros, so no one would be the wiser. She was also so far from Westeros, that she hoped no one would figure out she was alive. Daenerys feared that her childhood would become Rhyaenna’s, that assassins would be sent after them to snuff out the last of the Targaryen’s.

That was something that she couldn’t allow.

The two of them came to a stop in front of a large, open balcony, Rhyaenna looking around in confusion.

“What’s going on?” she asked, turning to her mother.

Daenerys smiled. “My child the day of your birth is nearing, and I believe that it’s time for you to learn the most important lesson of your bloodline.”

Rhyaenna arched an eyebrow, before the roar of a dragon, filled her ears. Her face lit up with excitement as a massive, dark shape appeared, seeming from the sun itself. It flew in their direction, the creature landing heavily in front of them.

“Drogon?” Rhyaenna said, excitement filling her soul.

She extended her hand slowly, the large dragon sniffing her palm before licking it slowly. Drogon began to softly purr as Rhyaenna strokes his nose, closing his eyes in pleasure and contentment.

“It is time for you to learn how to dragon ride, my child,” Daenerys said, proudly. “And Drogon is going to be your primary teacher.”


	3. CHAPTER II: BRAN THE BROKEN

Tyrion Lannister walked down the halls of the now restored Red Keep. King’s Landing had taken two decades to heal the wounds of Daenerys’s attack, but now, everything seemed right.

The Hand of the King nodded to the assembled nobles, all clamoring for a chance to speak to their Lord. That was there Tyrion was headed, walking to talk with Bran, and he knew exactly where to find him.

Inside the royal gardens, there was a special place for Bran and Bran alone. The King would normally be wheeled out here by Podrick, and then spend hours in his warg state. By decree of the King, they had found and transported a weirwood from the local godswood that was near Blackwater Rush. Here, it was heavily guarded, as it was the primary place Bran would use his powers.

The Kingsguard stepped the side when they saw Tyrion, Brienne nodding briefly in welcome, as the dwarf entered the area. Bran was already there, of course, his eyes turned white as he warged.

Tyrion stood behind him a moment, running his hand through his greying beard. His king was now 45 years old, not old but not young either. Normally, kings would have children in their teens by now, learning about the art of ruling. By Bran had no wife, he had no children. Tyrion had suggested that the Seven Kingdoms vote on their next ruler, but the Hand knew of the difficulties that possessed.

It would be more than easy for someone to bribe their way into being the next ruler or threaten the lesser kingdoms. Gendry’s eldest son—Tyrion believed his name was Robert, in honor of his grandfather—was trying to prove his worth. While there were reports coming in by the day, singing of his praises; Tyrion also received less favorable news. If the rumors were true, then this Robert wouldn’t be much different than his grand-sire.

There were also tensions with the Iron Islands and Dorne. Both kingdoms had been strong supporters of Daenerys Targaryen. The Mother of Dragons had offered independence to one, and ever-lasting support to the other. So far, the only kingdom that declared independence after her death was the North.

Deep down, Tyrion didn’t agree with that declaration; although he dared not speak it aloud. The North was equal to a third of all Westeros, and now that the Night King was gone, they had gained even more land. Add that to Queen Sansa’s treaty with the Erie… they seemed seemingly unstoppable.

“Deep in thought… my Lord Hand?” Bran asked.

Tyrion looked to his King, realizing that he had come out of his warging state. “Just matters of the realm. Nothing to bother you with, Your Grace, now.”

Bran’s face was a calm and smooth as untouched stone. If he suspected Tyrion’s inner thoughts, he did not make it known.

“What have you seen, Your Grace?” Tyrion asked.

“Nothing and everything,” Bran replied.

“Any…” Tyrion took a deep breath. “Any sign of Drogon.”

“The dragon is in Essos,” Bran replied. “But at the same time, I see that it’s not alone.”

Tyrion arched an eyebrow. “Drogon is not alone? Could he have laid eggs? Could he really be a she?”

Bran did not reply and instead signaled for Podrick to wheel him inside of the Red Keep.

Tyrion groaned under his breath. He hated it when Bran did that. He respected his King, as he should, but Tyrion wished that he would speak more.

Being Hand of the King was hard work, it was even harder when your King didn’t believe in telling you the whole truth. The thought that Drogon was not alone, worried Tyrion. He would tolerate, knowing that Drogon was out there, as he was riderless. But knowing that it was possible for there to be more dragons… Tyrion was going to have a hard time sleeping.

Tyrion recalled during the Dance of Dragons when the Princess Rhaenyra needed riders for her army of dragons; she found what was known at the time as ‘dragon seeds’. Bastards who possessed Targaryen blood, a handful of them were able to lay claim to the dragons.

The people of Lys were known to possess the unnatural beauty of Old Valyria. If anyone of them got their hands on Drogon…

Tyrion didn’t want to think of such a thing.

Bran didn’t possess a Master of Whispers, as the King didn’t see the point in it. Now, Tyrion wished that he would have insisted on such a thing. How Tyrion would kill for Varys’s talents. He needed people in Essos, Tyrion needed to know what Drogon was doing, how big the dragon was. Almost 21 years had passed since the dragon left Westeros, the dragon must be the size of Balerion by now!

Added with the stress of Bran’s possible successor… Tyrion’s beard and hair would be white before he knew it. The Hand was nearing 60, he wanted to retire… but the Realm was still so unstable.

At times, Tyrion wondered if things would have been different is Daenerys had become Queen of Westeros. He knew such thoughts would be considered treason, but Tyrion could not help it.

Before Daenerys had gone mad, he had the makings of a good ruler. She could have led the realm to greatness. But in the end, the infamous Targaryen Madness claimed yet another victim.

* * *

 

Rhyaenna looked at her mother with violet eyes, sparkling with excitement. “I really am going to do it?”

Daenerys nodded, smiling with pride. “Yes, you are. But it won’t be as dangerous as when I rode him.”

Rhyaenna blinked. “What do you mean ‘when you rode him?’ I thought Drogon was your mount?”

Daenerys sighed, shaking her head slowly. “Not anymore. I am the Queen of Meereen, I belong here, on the ground. But you, my child… you are the Blood of the Dragon. You belong souring through the clouds, mastering the air as well as land.”

Rhyaenna turned back to Drogon, chuckling softly as the massive beast nudged her back; purring.

The Princess remembered when her mother first introduced her to the Black Dread, so many years ago. Rhyaenna was a mere babe then, carried by her mother to the top of the Pyramid. There, without fear, Rhyaenna reached out a chubby hand to pet his large nose; the dragon purring affectionately as she fell in love with the beast. Now, Rhyaenna was going to do the exact same thing she had seen her mother done multiple times.

“What did you mean, when you said that I won’t be in the same danger as you were?” Rhyaenna asked.

Daenerys turned to her side and produced two sketches. The first sketch, Rhyaenna could tell was for a riding harness, and from the extensive notes, she knew that it had to be for Drogon. The second sketch was of formal riding outfit with a hooded cloak and mask, to help with the stinging winds Rhyaenna thought.

“Inside your chambers, you will find this,” Daenerys said, giving Rhyaenna the sketch of the outfit. “Go put it on and return. When you do, you will find Drogon saddled and ready.”

Rhyaenna did as her mother bid, hurrying to her chambers where she found three servant girls ready to help her dress. The outfit was Rhyaenna’s two favorite colors: regal purple and deep blue and was accented with gold; signifying her royal status. The gloves stopped at her wrists and were thickly padded at the palms, the material most likely used to prevent the reigns from slipping from her hands. The pants were tight but quite stretchy, the bodice wrapped around her torso as tight as a lover’s embrace. The front of the bodice was thickly padded, covering a thin sheet of metal; protecting her heart and vital organs. Rhyaenna’s only complaint might be the shoulder pads, as they were heavy. There were also two strange flaps on the sides of her belt, but they didn’t seem to connect to anything.

However, as she buckled up her boots and looked in the mirror; Rhyaenna couldn’t help but feel pride. She was the Dragon’s Daughter, she was about to go ride a dragon, her birthright!

‘But why do I feel so incomplete?’ Rhyaenna wondered to herself as a servant girl braided her long ebony locks and tucked them into her hood. ‘Why do I feel as if another part of me is missing? Could it be the part of me that is my Father? The man who helped create me, but not raise me?’

“Your Radiance,” one of the Servant Girl’s said, interrupting Rhyaenna from her thoughts. “Her Magnificence awaits you.”

“Right,” Rhyaenna said, shaking all her nerves away. “I’m coming.”

Daenerys awaited her daughter’s return patiently, smiling when Rhyaenna returned. She turned from her task and stepped aside, revealing she had been buckling the harness onto Drogon. When her eyes took in her daughter, Daenerys struggled against tears because she could see Him… she could see Jon. Jon was a warrior, and now their daughter was following in his footsteps.

“Alright,” Daenerys said, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Come to me, and I’ll buckle you in.”

“You’ll… buckle me in?” Rhyaenna repeated, looking at her mother in confusion.

Drogon sat still, his side lowered as Daenerys took Rhyaenna’s hand. Supporting her, Daenerys helped Rhyaenna climb onto Drogon’s back, sitting securely in the saddle; but they could not go souring through the sky yet.

“You buckle yourself here, and here,” Daenerys said, showing Rhyaenna the brass buckles, securing them tightly. “You don’t want to fall off.”

“How did you come up with this idea?” Rhyaenna asked, putting her feet into the stirrups.

“My own personal battles,” Daenerys replied. “I have almost from Drogon’s back too many times, for my comfort. I would not be able to forgive myself if that fate befell my daughter.”

It took a couple of trial and errors for Daenerys to perfect the style that she believed would work best. It would have to be remade frequently though, as Drogon continued to grow, as he wasn’t caged.

“Now, what do I do?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Connect with him,” Daenerys said. “Use your heart and mind, Drogon will know what to do next.”


	4. CHAPTER III: TO RIDE A DRAGON

Rhyaenna’s hands trembled as she gripped the reins, her violet eyes looking to where her Mother stood, but Daenerys’s face shone with nothing more than support.

 _‘I am the Blood of the Dragon_ ’, Rhyaenna told herself, struggling to calm down her furiously beating heart. ‘ _I am the Blood of the Dragon._ ’

Taking a deep breath, Rhyaenna nodded to her Mother, who took several steps back. Rhyaenna leaned forward, running her hand gently against Drogon’s massive neck, the beast seemingly finding comfort in her touch.

“Sōvegon,” Rhyaenna whispered, repeating the High Valyrian word for ‘fly’, a word she had heard her mother say many times.

Drogon rippled his massive shoulders, the dragon leaning forward as he began to run forward. Rhyaenna clung as tightly as she could, seeing the edge of the pyramid getting closer… and closer… and closer… until there was no more edge.

The dragon dipped down, nose first, as he began to seemingly fall. The wind screamed in her ears as they fell… the ground getting closer and closer…

Then, at the last moment, Drogon spread his wings, the two of them pulling up and shooting up into the air. Rhyaenna’s eyes widened as the clouds greeted them, wrapping around the couple in an intimate embrace. Blood roared in her ears as Drogon sped through the air, spinning, dipping, and diving. Dipping his head again, he dived for a large lake, only to pull up at the last second and spay her with a thin mist of water.

He was playing with her, Rhyaenna realized.

This made the Princess giggle, to toss her head back with laughter, her shrieks of joy filling the air. She was doing it! She was a dragon rider, just as her mother and her ancestors!

Drogon seemed to find enjoyment in her laughter, the dragon purring softly as he increased his pace. Flapping his wings, he climbed a tall mountain, zooming over the side and dipping down once again.

Rhyaenna clung to him tightly, the mask covering her face helped protect her line of sight. But as they flew, her vision began to flicker. Rhyaenna’s eyes began to burn, to itch, there was a sharp tugging in the back of her eyeballs as her vision… began to change. At times the ground looked so far away, and at other times it seemed so much closer. The burning of her eyes grew worse and worse until her eyes seemed to cloud over… but it cleared up almost as quickly as it began.

Now, however, everything was so much… sharper. She could see everything, from the people walking on the earth below her to the fluttering of a falcon’s wings that was trying—and failing—to race them. Curious, Rhyaenna reached to reach up with her hand, to touch her face; but it wasn’t a hand that reached for her face.

It was a dragon’s wing.

A sharp pain slammed into her forehead, breaking her concentration. Drogon began to buck, swaying left and right, before diving down again; heading for a mountain. Rhyaenna closed her eyes tightly, praying to the gods as she and Drogon landed bumpily.

Quickly, Rhyaenna unbuckled herself from his saddle and scrambled off his back. She couldn’t get off Drogon fast enough, in fact, she moved too fast and fell backward. Seeing this, Drogon purred softly, extending his neck to press his nose against her chest.

‘ _It’s as if he’s worried for me…_ ’ Rhyaenna thought to herself.

Pushing back her hood and tugging down her mask, Rhyaenna couldn’t stop herself from chuckling softly.

“I’m alright…” she whispered, petting and stroking his large muzzle. “Just confused… on what…”

The words died on her lips as that burning pain in her eyes returned. Blinking and rubbing her eyes, Rhyaenna tried to soothe her eyes; but when she opened them everything seemed alright.

Only… it wasn’t alright.

From her eye line, she looked… taller, than she remembered. In fact, she seemed to be massive. But when she looked down, her heart froze in her chest. She was looking down at herself, her body frozen in place. Her violet eyes were glowing… but that didn’t make sense to Rhyaenna, why were her eyes glowing, and how was she looking down at herself?

Rhyaenna tried to look around for more clues, only to realize that her body felt heavier… then she remembered. Rhyaenna tried lifting an arm, but something was weighing it down: a dragon’s wing. Rhyaenna tried to talk, but the only thing that came out of her throat were snarls and roars. Rhyaenna turned her neck left and right, desperate for answers and the one she got terrified her… she was in the body… of Drogon.

* * *

 

Daenerys watched as Rhyaenna flew into the distance with Drogon, but the clearing of someone’s throat broke the tender moment. “Yes?”

“It’s good to see you too, Your Grace,” a feminine voice said behind her.

Daenerys turned around, her eyebrows shooting up. Standing before her was the spitting image of an old ally, Yara Greyjoy; but Daenerys knew that the girl wasn’t Yara. Instead, it was her daughter, Alarina, by one of her many lovers.

Alarina had been living as a guest in Meereen since Yara visited fifteen years ago, growing up as a close companion to her own daughter; Rhyaenna. However, for the last five years, Alarina had been in Westeros.

“If you’re looking for Rhy, she is having a dragonriding lesson,” Daenerys said, nodding to the form growing smaller in the distance. “But I’m sure she’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

Alarina nodded. “I can wait, but as I do so, I have information from my mother.”

Daenerys’ face turned grim, but she nodded. Leading the girl into her Small Council Room, Daenerys sat down at the head of the table, nodding for Alarina to tell her the valuable information that she brought.

“There are rumblings… among the Six Kingdoms,” Alarina began. “A couple still hold fast to anger, and do not believe it was fair that the North to secede, while the rest of us had to stay.”

Daenerys remember when word had come to her of Sansa crowing herself as Queen of the North. If there was one person in this world, that Daenerys held a wave of strong anger toward, it was Sansa Stark. She had tried to, and succeed, in turning her only Love against her. Daenerys remembered Jon telling her that he had made Sansa swear not to tell anyone about his birthright in front of a weirwood tree, and less than fifteen minutes later she broke her word. If the gods she worshiped were true, then Sansa had committed a great sin in their eyes.

“What… does Yara believe these rumblings will lead too?” Daenerys asked.

“She fears open rebellion,” Alarina replied. “Not only that but Bran… is not a real king. According to the rumors, his Hand and Small Council handle most of the day-to-day ruling. Bran the Broken spends hours in his godswood.”

“And he’s getting older,” Daenerys said. “I remember you telling me that Tyrion had suggested that the Kingdoms choose their next king when Bran died? But we all know that it won’t be hard to bride your way into that position.”

“My Mother agrees,” Alarina said, nodding. “That is why she sent me here to ask you… come back.”

Daenerys’s hands gripped the armrests of her chair. Yara had made this offer before, asking for Daenerys to come back. But Daenerys knew that the people of Westeros would never accept her, for what she did to King’s Landing. In her fury… in her mourning… she had become her greatest fear: Daenerys had turned Mad. She had become worse than her father, and that was why Jon killed her.

But at the same time, Daenerys believed that if she had the support she craved… the love that she craved from the very beginning; then that would have never happened.

‘And Jon would know of his child’, Daenerys though, before turning her attention back to Alarina. “As much as I would like the honor, I know I am not worthy to hold the title of Queen of Westeros.”

“But…” Alarina protested, however she was cut off by Daenerys who raised her hand.

“I know that Yara means well, and I thank her for he continued to support,” Daenerys said. “But becoming the Queen of Westeros is not a title I seek. I am perfectly content in being Queen of the Bay of Dragons. Bran, Tyrion, Sansa…” she took a shaky breath. “Jon. None of them know that I am alive, none of them know about Rhy. And I want to keep it that way. Imagine what Tyrion would do, what Sansa would do, if they found out that Jon had a child? They viewed Jon as the rightly King of Westeros, but he gave up that title and took the Black. Now Bran is King, and Rhy is a threat to that.”

“Your Grace…” Alarina looked at her. “You don’t think that Sansa or Tyrion… would kill you? Kill Rhy?”

Daenerys stood up, hearing Drogon’s distant roar. “I’m not going to risk it. And Alarina, I would appreciate you not telling Rhy, what you’ve just told me.”

Alarina frowned. “Your Grace, Rhy has a right to know about her blood. What if something happens, what if she has a trait that only Jon and his family possessed? How would you explain that to her?”

Daenerys looked at Drogon’s approaching figure. “When and if that time comes, then I will talk to her. And only me. Am I understood?”

Alarina nodded. She didn’t agree with what Daenerys was saying, but she was her Queen. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Daenerys nodded. “Why don’t you go and greet Rhy? I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to see you again.”


	5. CHAPTER IV: DAUGHTER OF THE SEA, SON OF IRON

Alarina had always liked Meereen. It wasn’t cold and rainy, unlike the Iron Islands, and the food was much better too. Her childhood wasn’t one of the playing games of festive balls. Alarina was born and raised in the sea and took great pride in being called Daughter of the Kraken’s Queen; a title was given to her mother, Yara. Before Alarina was five she knew how to handle a dagger before she was ten she could duel with a sword quite effectively, and before she was twelve Yara gave Alarina control of her own ship.

However, Yara had a secret mission for Alarina, and that was to be the close confident of Rhyaenna. Brought to Meereen when she was only two years old, and it wasn’t hard for the Alarina and Rhyaenna to become friends. But Yara’s mission for her daughter wasn’t malicious, not against Daenerys anyway. After all, Yara was the first to learn that Daenerys was still alive, after a couple of her sailors brought the information back from trade in Meereen.

Yara had them silenced by cutting out their tongues, and within weeks she was in the Meereenese port.

Although originally reluctant, Daenerys quickly warmed to Yara again. She was her only dead-fast supporter after two decades, and the two women formed a plan. Yara would be her eyes in Westeros, using her men and recourses and then sending word back to Daenerys via Alarina and coded documents. It was because of Yara that Daenerys knew that Bran was crowned King of Westeros, and Sansa was Queen of the North. Daenerys only wanted this information because she feared Tyrion, and what he would do if he found out about her daughter. So, Alarina split her time between Westeros and Meereen.

She watched as Drogon neared, landing on the private balcony in the Great Pyramid, and as Rhyaenna carefully slid off his back. Drogon was wearing a riding harness, Alarina noted, and she wondered if this was Daenerys’s design. She had lost two of her three dragons, no doubt she wouldn’t risk losing this one.

“Looks like we have a new dragonrider in the world,” Alarina said, walking over to them.

Rhyaenna looked up from where she was unbuckling Drogon’s harness. Squealing with joy, she ran to her best friend, wrapping her arms around Alarina in a tight hug. “Seven hells, when did you arrive?”

Alarina chuckled. “Just recently. Finished talking to your mother, in fact.”

Rhyaenna playfully rolled her eyes. “What for? Talking about some far-off land that is of no consequence to Meereen?”

Alarina had to bite her tongue against a quick retort. Rhyaenna knew only the bare bones of Westeros, and what was going on there. Daenerys had intentionally kept her in the dark about the powers-to-be and the happenings in Westeros. Alarina and her own mother, Yara, didn’t believe this should be so. As the child of Jon Snow and Daenerys, Rhyaenna was the true Queen of Westeros. Her claim was much stronger than Bran the Broken could ever want.

“She just… wants to meek Meereen safe,” Alarina said, choosing her words carefully. “Keep you safe.”

Rhyaenna rolled her eyes, tossing her head in a haughtily. In this light, Alarina saw the perfect outline of Jon Snow in her friend’s face. Although Alarina had never seen Jon in the flesh, she had need paintings of him before; Rhyaenna was him but in female form, there was no denying that.

“I still don’t see what’s so important about Westeros,” Rhyaenna sighed, rubbing her eyes.

Alarina frowned. “What’s wrong? Sand or dirt get in your eyes from your flight?”

Rhyaenna blinked but shook her head, the smile on her face seemed forced. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. My eyes have just been very irritated as of late… I think I just need to wash my face with lavender water, that’s all.”

Alarina was biting her tongue so hard that she swore that she might accidentally tear it in half. If her Rhyaenna’s eyes were bothering her, Alarina wondered if perhaps she possessed the same abilities as her half-uncle, Bran.

‘Was it possible that Rhyaenna was a warg?’ Alarina thought to herself.

* * *

 

Having changed into a light-violet colored silken sleeping gown, Rhyaenna splashed warm lavender water upon her face. She sighed softly, feeling the throbbing behind her eyes slowly ceasing. She was so confused… how could she be in Drogon’s body? How could she see through his eyes? How could she hear his thoughts?

‘It’s not natural…’ Rhyaenna thought to herself, only to bitterly chuckle. ‘What am I saying? I live in a world of dragons and magic, is slipping into the mind of one that difficult to believe?’

Rhyaenna knew she had to tell her mother this, but she didn’t know how Daenerys would react. Would her mother hate her? Would her mother consider her a freak?

‘No… No, Mama wouldn’t think that. She loves me… she loves…’

A soft shuffle behind her ripped Rhyaenna from her thoughts. Without hesitation the Princess grabbed the dagger at her side and whipped around, pointing it at the throat of the man behind her. With her weight, Rhyaenna pressed the man against a wall, only to hear him softly chuckle.

“Forgive me,” the familiar, deep voice said. “I forgot never to sneak up on you…”

“Vyreo? What did I say about doing that?” Rhyaenna asked, loosening her hold. "I could have killed you!"

“Again… I say forgive me,” Vyreo said. “Perhaps I should… make it up to you.”

Using her distraction, Vyreo twisted Rhyaenna’s hands, causing her to drop the dagger. Gripping her waist, Vyreo spun them around before laying her gently upon her bed.

Rhyaenna didn’t resist, instead, her violet eyes glittered with a carnal hunger. Just as with Alarina, Vyreo must have returned from visiting his family, although the only difference being was that Vyreo was from Braavos. He was a younger from a noble House called House Hestonnis, a dynasty that prided itself in providing an unbroken chain in men and women severing as the First Sword of Braavos.

Years ago, Vyreo came with his eldest brother—who was next in line to become the next First Sword of Braavos after their father—to train Rhyaenna. Daenerys wanted her daughter to know how to be a warrior, to fight with swords and knives; so, Rhyaenna would never know what it was like to be helpless. At first there as mere flirting between Vyreo and Rhyaenna, but the young could soon give in to their inner desires when Rhyaenna reached eighteen-years-old. Since then, Vyreo had been Rhyaenna’s loyal, and only lover; and vice versa.

“Now…” Vyreo said, pulling up her gown as to bare her slender, yet muscular thighs to the warm air. “How shall I… make it up to you…?”

“I can think of a couple ways…” Rhyaenna whispered, slowly spreading her legs.

Vyreo grinned, leaning over, he pressed his lips gently to her inner thigh. “I love… how you think… When does the Queen expect you for dinner?” with each word, he kissed lower and lower down her thighs.

“She and I don’t eat dinner today…” Rhyaenna replied, shuddering. “She has Small Council meetings before she goes on her own evening flight on Drogon’s back.”

Vyreo looked up at her from his position, his blue eyes glittering like bright sapphires. “Good… that gives us all the time in the world.”

* * *

 

Vyreo’s lips connected with her dripping center, his tongue spreading out, giving it a slow, sensual lap. Reaching forward with his fingers, Vyreo spread her lower lips, inhaling her scent before latching onto her pearl.

Rhyaenna’s head tossed back with a low groan, her hips ripping as she gripped the back of Vyreo’s head. Her long white fingers tangled in his black locks as he feasted on her nethers, licking, and suckling upon her pearl, before sliding his middle finger inside her.

Vyreo loved to watch her reactions, finding great pride that he and he alone Rhyaenna let in her bed. He had gone months without her, without being inside her, and Vyreo wasn’t sure how long he could last with this foreplay. Still, he wanted to give her pleasure first, as he always thought of her needs first.

With this rapt attention to her pearl, it wasn’t long before Rhyaenna came, her shriek of release filling her chambers. Vyreo more than welcomed her sweet nectar, licking her clean, before sitting up. Pulling away, he unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it over his head and tossing it away. As he reached for his pants, Rhyaenna helped him, the two of them scrambling to unbuckle his pants; which he quickly wiggled out of. Helping Rhyaenna out of her sleeping gown, his hunger eyes roamed over her naked body.

She was like a marble statue, long limbs, breasts round as perfect melons, wonderfully tanned skin… Vyreo was in love with her, as he always would be.

“Do you want to be on top… or shall I?” Rhyaenna asked.

“I don’t know…” Vyreo said, gripping her plump bottom, feeling the muscles flex in his hands. “Part of me wants to take you from behind… so I can see this…”

Rhyaenna giggled, playfully pushed him back onto her bed. Crawling to him, she straddled his lap, raising herself up, she gripped his shaft, spread her legs, and slowly slid down on it.

Both tossed her head back, moaning deeply in unison as their bodies once again were joined as one.

“Guess that answers that question…” Vyreo groaned.

“Yeah…” Rhyaenna sighed.

Slowly, Rhyaenna began to rock her hips. The sensation of him inside her was toe-curling, every movement sending a jolt of pleasure throughout her body. She had missed him, missed this, as it was an open secret that they were together. Vyreo at first held her waist, but as Rhyaenna’s pace increased and she began to bounce, rather than rock; his hands slid to grip her bottom.

Normally he was the one who rode the Dragon’s Daughter, now she was riding him.

Panting and moaning, Rhyaenna gripped the back of the bed, her breasts swaying sensually in front of her lovers’ face. He reacted by burying his face between them, pressing his lips to the orbs before latching onto one of the bright pink nipples.

“Fuck…” he groaned into her breasts. “How… did I ever pass a day without this?”

“I could…” Rhyaenna panted. “Ask… the same thing….”

Vyreo gave her bottom a playfully-hard smack, urging her faster. Perspiration beaded on their skin, Rhyaenna’s moans quickly melting into breathy cries of pleasure with each bounce of her hips.

Rhyaenna could feel her inner dam building with pressure, she could feel her climax getting closer. This only increased her resolve, driving Rhyaenna to ride Vyreo harder and faster. Vyreo began to thrust into her from below, the air filling with the sound of wet slapping of skin, his groans, and her moans of pleasure.

As Rhyaenna slammed down on him one last time, that was the stroke that shattered her. Tossing her head back, Rhyaenna cried out as her climax ripped through her body, sending her in spasms. Her thighs quivered, a shudder of pleasure shoot up her spine, her inner walls tightened around Vyero’s shaft like a vice; pulling him deeper into her body.

Cupping Rhyaenna’s back, Vyreo buried his face between her breasts, releasing his roar of triumph there. His shaft pulsed inside his Love, the young Braavossi Lord groaning deeply as he felt himself empty his seed into her body.

Holding her close, Vyreo fell backward on the bed, gently thrusting into her as he rolled them over so that he laid on top of her. Slowly, he pulled away from her breasts, brushing the sweat-soaked locks from her face as Vyreo gazed deeply into her blue eyes.

“I love you… so much Rhyaenna Targaryen,” he whispered.

“And I love you,” Rhyaenna whispered back, pulling him down for another kiss, the rest of the world quickly forgotten.


	6. CHAPTER V: GOLDEN LIONS AND GREY WOLVES

“Jaime? Jaime, where are you?”

A blonde-haired girl, no more than nineteen years of age, held her skirts as she ran through the royal gardens. Servants bowed their heads in respect, Noble’s nodded, but the Girl paid no attention to them. She was looking for her brother, she couldn’t believe that he had gone missing at a time like this! Coming to stop under a large oak tree, she cupped her hands around her mouth to call for him again.

“Jaime!” She yelled. “Mother told me to find you! You’re going to be late!”

A rustling the oak tree above her, made the Girl look up, her eyes narrowing into small slits when she saw who sat among the branches.

It was Jaime. Sitting among the branches, swinging his foot casually as he ate an apple.

“Seven hells, Jaime!” She hissed. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“I did,” Jaime said, taking another bite of his apple.

“And why didn’t you answer?”

Jaime shrugged. “I wasn’t done with my snack.”

She balled her hands into fists. “Uncle Tyrion is going to whip you, for making everyone wait!”

Jaime chuckled, tossing his apple core far away. “Uncle Tyrion wouldn’t lay a hand on me. I’m his heir. Besides, between you and me, He can’t even reach my waist.”

“You best hope, Mother doesn’t hear you say such things about Uncle Tyrion,” She said, frowning deeply, thinking a moment, before switching tactics. “You don’t want to disappoint her, do you?”

Jaime grew still, her words striking home. His sister knew that the fear of disappointing their Mother was his weakness. Jaime couldn’t bring himself to do it, to their Mother’s bright blue eyes grow dark, with sadness. Swinging his legs over the side of the branch, Jaime pushed himself out of the tree; landing in front of his sister.

“Joanna, you can be a bit of a bitch, you know that?” Jaime grumbled.

His twin sister smirked and dipped herself in a small curtsy. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now hurry up, we’re late for your knighting!”

Taking his hand, Joanna dragged her brother into the Red Keep, up the stairs and to the doors in front of the closed doors of the throne room. She fussed with him, smoothing out his clothes, straightening his hair, hurrying to make him look presentable. When Joanna was satisfied, she nodded to the guards that stood on either side of the door, before hurrying to the balcony to watch the ceremony.

For those brief moments, before the doors opened, Jaime was alone. The young man always hated to be alone. Being alone felt so… wrong… so strange, to him. Jaime had come into this world mere moments before his sister, and he found the greatest comfort in being around her. But there were some times in which they were forced to be apart, and Jaime hated those times the most. But now, Jaime was forced to swallow his own emotions and not disappoint his mother.

“Announcing, Ser Jaime Lannister of Tarth!” the herald shouted, as the doors opened.

Jaime walked slowly down the center of the throne room, looking neither left nor right, forcing himself to look straight ahead. Upon the dais, in his wheeled chair, sat King Bran with Jaime’s Uncle Tyrion sitting in a small chair at his side. At the foot of the dais stood the Kingsguard, his Jaime’s mother standing in the center.

Brienne’s blue eyes fastened upon her son, as he strode confidently into the throne room. He walked on the balls of his feet, a swagger in his step, his chin held high of one highborn. He was his Father’s son true and true.

Today was the most important day of his life, today was the day her son was born for. Today, Jamie was to be knighted, to swear an oath of loyalty to the realm, to his king. At the same time, Jaime would officially be ‘crowned’ in a sense, as his Uncle’s heir, to take his family’s seat at Casterly Rock.

Tyrion was seeing a ghost, at least in the Hand’s mind that was what he was seeing. The man standing before the dais wasn’t his nephew, but rather his long-dead brother; Jaime.

“Your Grace,” Jaime said, bowing deeply to Bran, before turning to Tyrion. “Lord Uncle.”

“Ser Jaime,” Tyrion said, forcing his voice to not quiver. “You are late.”

“Forgive me, Uncle,” Jaime said. “It was not intended. I hope, that I have not disappointed you, His Grace, or my Mother.”

“You haven’t,” Tyrion said. “But you know, why you are here, yes?”

“Yes, Uncle,” Jaime said, nodding. “And I find it an honor, that you and His Grace have so much trust in me. I am not worthy.”

“You are more than worthy,” Tyrion said, nodding to Brienne.

Brienne drew her sword. “Kneel, Jaime.”

Jaime quickly did as his Mother commanded, bowing his head. But as he did so, he saw that the sword she carried wasn’t her normal sword.

Brienne cleared her throat, lowering her sword to gently tap his shoulders. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Jamie Lannister of Tarth, a knight of the Six Kingdoms.”

The nobles assembled in the throne room burst into thunderous applause, cheering and slapping for the young lord. But the ceremony was not finished, not yet.

Now, Tyrion slowly walked down until he stood on the second step of the dais. He nodded to a servant who stepped forward, holding out an elaborate box.

Jaime reached forward and opened it, his eyes widening when he saw his mother’s sword, resting upon a red, satin pillow. He quickly raised his eyes to his Uncle for an explanation.

“Jaime,” Tyrion said. “Not only, have you been knighted today, but have been summoned her to take your rightful place, as Lord Paramount of Casterly Rock. I formally proclaim you, the son of Jaime Lannister, who was the son of Tywin Lannister; as my heir. The sword you see before you belonged to your Father. He gifted it to your Mother, and it served her well. Now, she desires to gift the sword to its rightful owner.”

Jamie took a step back from the sword, holding up his hands. “Mother, I can not accept such a gift. I know what it means to you.”

Brienne sheathed her sword and stepped forward to her son, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder. “I would mean the world to me, knowing that it was in your hands, my son. Your father would be more than proud, to know that it was you who held it.”

“But then what sword will you use?” Jaime asked.

“There was another sword, made out of Ice,” Brienne replied. “As we speak, Tyrion is getting the handled changed, but please, Jaime, say you accept my gift.”

Slowly, Jaime turned back to the case. He stretched out his hand and gripped the handle. Pulling it from the scaffold, the Valyrian Steel gleamed in the candlelight, Jaime seeing his own reflection upon it.

‘I hope I make you proud, Father’, he thought to himself, before saying aloud. “I accept, this sword and my new title.”

Tyrion smiled with joy. “By order of His Grace, King Bran, you may leave for Casterly Rock as soon as you are ready. There, you may set up your own household, and decorate it to your desires.”

Jaime looked to Bran. “Thank you, Your Grace. But what of my sister?”

“Joanna is to stay at the capital,” Tyrion answered for Bran. “Your mother still desires to teach her light swordsmanship.”

Jaime frowned, turning back to Bran. “If it pleases your Grace, I would like to stay at the Red Keep a bit longer then. It will take a moment, I believe, to settle my household and put my affairs in order.”

Bran said nothing, he didn’t even move. Tyrion, who was used to situations like this, once again spoke for his king.

“If that is what you wish, then you may do it.”

Jaime nodded, putting the sword back into its scabbard before bowing deeply to both men, and then backing out of the room.

* * *

 

It was hard, knowing everything and nothing; at the same time.

Bran existed within this world of constantly changing futures or slipping into visions of the past. The 37-year-old king was both a young man in his prime and a grizzled old man.

Face wise he resembled his father, Eddard Stark, although Bran’s face was cleanshaven. His hair was also shorter.

Bran was King of Westeros in name… but when it came in duty, he knew the real power lied within Tyrion and his Small Council. However, deep inside, Bran knew that his time as king would not last much longer. He was the Three Eyes Raven, just like his predecessor, he was not meant to rule as king of anything. His home, his throne, was the Great Weirwood tree. There, he was to rule, to be cared for by a select group of followers, as he awaited his heir.

The Six Kingdoms were fractures, Bran knew that.

Although Tyrion chose to not speak of it, Bran knew that there were rumblings for rebellion within the realm.

For example, Bronn was a terrible Master of Coin, as well as Lord Paramount of the Reach. There were rumblings through the castle of his wild balls and parties. Bronn was also yet to take a wife, with the primary open secret being him fathering more bastards than one has fingers and toes.

Another problem was that several of the smaller House’s didn’t see the point in serving their overlords. They were not afraid of Bran, nor were they afraid of Tyrion. The castle was flooded with letters of knights and minor lords forgetting their place, of disrespecting their liege lords. The Great House’s could only do so much, and Bran knew that the threat of open rebellion was looming in the distance.

‘Unless a ruler came forward, who could inspire both love and fear, within the people,’ Bran thought. ‘And that person is not in Westeros… but in Essos.’

* * *

 

Inside Winterfell, Sansa Stark sat in front of her desk, looking over the various letters and messages from her bannermen.

“Has the tribute from House Manderly, come in yet?” Sansa asked one of her Advisors.

The grizzled old man looked up from his own paperwork, shaking his head. “No, Your Grace, it has not.”

Sansa scowled. “That is the fifth month in a row, in which House Manderly has been ‘late’. How many times did it not show up at all?”

The Man looked through a thick book on his desk, pushing his spectacles close to his face. “Three… Your Grace.”

Sansa wanted to pull her hair out. House Manderly and House Stark had not-so-secretly battled for supremacy over the North since it’s very founding. While House Stark was established well within the North, House Manderly was settled on the coast. There, they grew rich from their silver mines, trade with the other regions as well as outside of Westeros. All trade that came into the North, came first through House Manderly.

They were well stocked with money, well armed with men, and well fed with food. The only thing that prevented House Manderly from taking over the North was the love the Northerners had for House Stark. That love had lasted thousands of years, but recently, Sansa had begun to sense as if that love was changing.

“Three out of four times it did not come as requested,” Sansa said through gritted teeth. “And this is the fifth time. I am without hope that it would even show up this time.”

“Perhaps… House Manderly really does need the food and men,” the Advisor suggested. “Perhaps they are as poor as their Lady… mentioned.”

Sansa laughed bitterly. “Wylla Manderly is her father’s daughter, true and true. She plays both hands against each other, knowing that at least one will stand triumphant.”

“What do you suggest we do, Your Grace?” the Advisor asked.

“Send a raven to Wylla Manderly,” Sansa said, standing up. “I’ve been much too lenient with them. I am Queen of the North, and it’s about time that I enforce it.”

The Advisor nodded, scrambling to find a pen and a piece of paper. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Her ladies, that sat in the corner sewing, all quickly stood up, to follow their queen. Sansa walked among the hallways, running her fingers gently against the stone walls.

This was her home.

It was hard to believe that she had almost lost it, but Sansa had done it, she had won the game of thrones. After the rightful slaying of Daenerys, the final threat to her reign was gone.

The world was better without them, without the Targaryen’s. They were abominations, wicked creatures who used blood and sex magic to bind those monstrous dragons to their beck and call. Daenerys had proved she really was the Mad King’s daughter, and now there weren’t any Targaryen’s or dragons.

‘I wish that I was the one to plunge the dagger into her black heart,’ Sansa thought, overlooking her kingdom. ‘I would have laughed; I would have slit her throat. Jon did it too quietly, too gently. She deserved to die screaming. Thank the gods she's dead.'


	7. CHAPTER VI: BLOOD OF THE DRAGON

_‘Dany…’_

_Inside her bed, Daenerys tossed and turned in her sleep. She stood among the ruins of King’s Landing, watching helplessly as Drogon flew above the burnt city._

_She was done this._

_Daenerys, who claimed to be the Breaker of Chain, the one who claimed to want to break the wheel… had become the monster everyone thought she would be. She had killed innocents, destroyed a city, all in the name of what? Brief madness?_

_‘Dany…’ the voice said again._

_Daenerys sensed she was not alone. A figure in the distance was walking to her, their form was blurry and disorientated. But as the person got closer, Daenerys could see it, the glisten of a knife in their hands._

_“No!” Daenerys cried. “No! Stay away!”_

_She turned and tried to run, but the ground under her feet turned to black tar. It slowed her steps, all the while the figure growing closer and closer. Daenerys fought against the tar as best she could, but before long it stopped her retreat altogether._

_Daenerys felt the Figure grab her arm, yanking her around to face them, only to find herself staring into the eyes… of Jon._

_“Jon?” Daenerys whispered._

_Jon’s face was hard, his handsome face contorted into a rage. “Why did you do it?” he asked, his voice thundering in Daenerys’s ears. “How could you kill children?!”_

_“I didn’t—” Daenerys began to say, only for her words to be cut off by a sharp pain._

_Looking down at her chest Daenerys could see a dagger protruding from her body, plunged in deeply by her lover. Jon twisted it, his face leaning close as he whispered into her ear._

_“You… are a murderess…”_

* * *

 

Daenerys woke from her nightmare in a cold sweat, her body trembling as a silent scream tore from her throat. Instantly, her Meereenese guards rushed in, their weapons were drawn and ready to defend their queen.

“It is alright…” Daenerys said, panting softly, trying to reassure her guards. “I am… I am fine…”

“You are sure, my Queen?” one of the guards asked.

Daenerys nodded, waving them away. “I just had a nightmare. I am fine. Truly.”

The guards still gave her chambers a thorough inspection before they left, and the moment they did, Daenerys rose from her bed.

The Targaryen Queen walked to her mirror, looking at the face that looked back at her.

Gone was the girl who dressed in loose silks and wore her hair unbound. That person seemed like a foreigner, compared to who Daenerys was now.

‘And who am I?’ Daenerys wondered to herself. ‘Am I a murderess… as Jon claims?’

There wasn’t a day that went by, in which Daenerys regretted her decision to burn King’s Landing. She had killed thousands that day, all in a fit of rage and anger; and what was the cost? Her life… and the life of her child.

Daenerys opened her gown, looking at the scar just below her left breast that had long healed; but the memories were still fresh.

Twenty years had passed since her death before she was brought back to life by the Lord of Light. Since then, Daenerys had freely allowed his followers to stay within her Great Cities, as after all, they preached that Daenerys was the Prince Who Was Promised.

But now that the dead were defeated, Daenerys wondered if there was another danger out there, just waiting to rise. Daenerys shook her head, if there was a problem in Westeros then she wouldn’t be bothered by it. Westeros was no longer her concern. Daenerys had the Great Cities, and she had her daughter; that was all she could ever want.

* * *

 

Alarina was confused when Rhyaenna dragged her and Vyreo out of the Great Pyramid one afternoon.

The city was abuzz, as nobles from Yunkai were supposed to be arriving in Meereen to give tribute to Daenerys. It was a yearly celebration, as the other two Great cities, Astipor and Yunkai brought Daenerys great wealth, as tribute and continue their sworn fealty.

Rhyaenna was supposed to be preparing for the event, but she needed to show her friends her new ability that she had been practicing how to master. Well, the Princess wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but she knew that she could tell her friends. A part of Rhyaenna knew that she should tell her mother about her new ability, but at the same time, Rhyaenna was scared.

Her mother had never exhibited this ability before, and Rhyaenna feared that Daenerys would then consider her some type of abomination. However, when it came to her friends, Rhyaenna knew that she could trust them.

“So, what’s the big secret?” Alarina asked, crossing her arms. “Why did we have to ride out so far from the city?”

“Because you two are the only ones I can trust with this secret,” Rhyaenna said. “I need you both to swear to me, by your gods, that you won’t tell another living soul.”

Vyreo nodded and Alarina shrugged but also nodded.

Rhyaenna closed her eyes and took a breath, finding Drogon with her mind. Her eyes opened, the violet orbs glowing as bright as the stars in the sky. From his location, Drogon’s eyes flashed the same color of violet before returning to normal, but there was a clear high intelligence behind them. Spreading his wings, the dragon took off into the sky, souring through the clouds.

Alarina and Vyreo looked at each other, seemingly confused, but only Alarina knew what was going on. Rhyaenna’s eyes were white, but Alarina knew that she was warging, and there was only one creature that she claimed as her partner.

The ground shook was Drogon/Rhyaenna landed right behind Alarina and Vyreo. The young man instantly froze, but Alarina boldly stepped forward.

“Rhy?” Alarina whispered, slowly extending her hand to the massive creature.

Drogon/Rhyaenna stretched out their neck, pulling back their lips to reveal wicked teeth as long as swords. They opened their mouth, boiling hot breath blasting into Alarina’s face, only for Drogon/Rhyaenna’s thick tongue to lick her face.

Alarina felt as if sandpaper was scraping her face raw, and she gagged at the smell of the dragon’s breath. “RHY!” She yelled.

Drogon/Rhyaenna pulled away, the noise that rumbled in the dragon’s chest resembled that of laughter. They pulled back, Drogon’s eyes flashing violet once again as Rhyaenna returned to her own body.

“Well?” Rhyaenna said proudly. “What do you think?”

“I think I need a bath,” Alarina said, wiping the hot, thick slobber from her face. “That was disgusting!”

“That was amazing!” Vyreo countered. “What… what type of magic is that?”

“I don’t really know,” Rhyaenna said, shrugging her shoulders. “It began a couple of weeks ago when my mother let me ride Drogon for the first time.”

Alarina bit her tongue. This was what she was afraid of. Yara had told Alarina that it was possible that Rhyaenna would inherit this magical ability from her uncle. A girl who warg into dragons would be the most powerful person in the world, all the more reason for Rhyaenna to become the Queen of Westeros.

“What does the Queen say?” Vyreo asked.

Rhyaenna began to stroke Drogon’s neck, the massive beasts laying at her side. “I… I haven’t told her.”

“What? Why?” Alarina asked, confused at how Daenerys didn’t know.

“I’m afraid, alright?” Rhyaenna confessed. “Mother doesn’t have this ability. What if she thinks… I’m a monster?”

“You ride a literal monster like a horse,” Vyreo said, only to quickly backpedal when Drogon growled. “No offense of course. But my love, you should tell your Mother. The Queen might be able to help you.”

Rhyaenna frowned, considering his words. Her mother was already quite understanding and was loved by virtually all. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a wrong thing if Rhyaenna told her mother about her ability.

“How long has this been going on?” Alarina abruptly asked.

“I want to say… exactly like a month ago?” Rhyaenna replied, trying to remember. “Yes, it was about a month ago. Since then I’ve been training with Drogon non-stop, and he seems to enjoy it.”

Alarina nodded, saying nothing.

The thundering of hooves behind them and the waving of royal banners told the trio that they had been found out. Several members of the Meereen Royal Guard were charging their way, and they did not look happy.

* * *

 

Daenerys was going to strangle her daughter. She had told Rhyaenna that she expected her to be at this meeting with the Yunkai Nobles. It was an important event, in which Rhyaenna was supposed to be shown as the future Queen of Meereen.

But Rhyaenna was not in the throne room when the Yunkai Nobles began to arrive. Daenerys was forced to smile and nod, thanking the Nobles for their gifts and tribute; while on the inside, she wanted to tear her hair out. Rhyaenna was a free spirit, Daenerys knew this, but sometimes her daughter didn’t seem to understand responsibility.

The Nobles were almost done with their presentation by the time Rhyaenna slipped into her spot next to her mother. The Princess had hurried to get dressed in a low v-cut light lavender dress, the bodice encrusted with diamonds as well as the hem that swept the floor. Daenerys wore her standard Meereen crown, while a small, slender silver one was low on Rhyaenna’s brow.

“Where were you?” Daenerys asked behind her smile.

“Flying with Drogon,” Rhyaenna replied, which wasn’t a complete lie.

“I told you to be on time for this,” Daenerys scolded her. “You’re the Princess of Meereen.”

“I know that,” Rhyaenna replied sharply. “You always tell me that.”

“Then it’s time that you begin to act like it,” Daenerys snapped. “You need to become more responsible. Soon you’ll be the one on the throne, the people need a strong ruler or else chaos will reign.”

Rhyaenna said nothing, turning her head away stubbornly. She hated it whenever her mother was right, although Rhyaenna would never admit it. Rhyaenna hated to disappoint her mother, she craved her mother’s support and love; and strived to never let her down. Her shoulders drooped at Daenerys’s words, and she raked her mind to figure out a way to make this up to her.

“Forgive me,” Rhyaenna apologized softly. “I just…” she took a deep breath. “Mother, after dinner, I must tell you something.”

Daenerys looked at her, confused, her heart leaping into her throat with fear. “Is something wrong?”

Rhyaenna shook her head. “Not… Not exactly. But promise me, that you won’t think of me differently once I tell you.”

That did nothing to cease Daenerys’s worry. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to Vyreo, who stood behind them with several members of the royal guard. Daenerys knew the two were lovers and approved of it, as Daenerys wanted her daughter to follow her heart. However, as she watched Vyreo watch her daughter, a clear hunger in her eyes, a thought hit her.

Was her daughter pregnant? Could this be the news that Rhyaenna wanted to tell her? If this was the matter, Daenerys wouldn’t be angry, she would be elated. To know that she was a grandmother, that she really wasn’t going to be the last Targaryen, would lift Daenerys’s spirits immensely.

Daenerys took Rhyaenna’s hands in hers and gave her daughter a smile. “I will support you in all things, my child. After dinner, we shall talk.”

When the last of the tribute was brought before Daenerys, the highest rank of the Yunkai nobles could share a meal with her. The Nobles brought several of their own dishes to share, although Daenerys did not eat much. Her mind was on Rhyaenna, and she kept stealing glances at her daughter’s stomach. It still looked perfectly flat as before, but then again the dress could hide a pregnancy rounding.

‘I wonder if it’s a boy or a girl?’ Daenerys wondered to herself. ‘I would love either one…’

The Lord of the Small Council that Daenerys had installed in Yunkai stood to his feet and cleared his throat.

“My friends,” the Lord said. “We gather here to support our Queen, the woman who had unified all of the Great Cities into one mighty empire. Your Excellence, please share this cup of wine with me, to signify our unity and strength.”

Daenerys smiled and stood up, nodding her approval. The Lord raised the cup to his lips, taking a long gulp, before slowly lowering it.

From her place at the table, Rhyaenna saw the Lord’s fingers move, smearing something upon the rim where her mother was to drink. Daenerys reached for the cup, raising it to her lips to share the wine, but Rhyaenna acted quickly.

“Mother! No!” Rhyaenna cried out, leaping to her feet and knocking the cup from Daenerys’s hands.

Daenerys jumped, surprised as the cup dropped to the ground, the red wine inside spilling upon the ground like blood.

Trying to use the chaos for a distraction, the Yunkai Lord reached into his robes and withdrew a dagger. He struck out with it, aiming for Daenerys’s heart. The sight of the dagger made Daenerys free, as the face of the Yunaki Lord morphed, changing into that of Jon.

‘Murderess…’ his voice said.

But the only heart that a dagger was buried into, was that of the Yunkai Lord. Vyreo, who was sitting next to Rhyaenna, had seen the man pull out his dagger. With lighting speed, Vyreo drew his own dagger and struck out, burying it up to the hilt into the man’s back.

Blood sprayed on Daenerys’s face as the Yunaki Lord coughed, his eyes glazing over as death enveloped him.

“Seize them!” Rhyaenna commanded of the Meereen Royal Guards, pointing to the assembled Yunkai Nobles. “Put them in the dungeons.”

“Please! My Princess! We swear we didn’t know!” the Nobles yelled as they were all dragged away.

“Vyreo, help me take my mother to her chambers,” Rhyaenna said, grabbing a napkin to wipe as much blood from her mother’s face as possible.

* * *

 

With the help of Vyreo, Rhyaenna took her mother to her room, nodding for her lover to place Daenerys onto one of the couches.

“Do you need my help?” Vyreo asked.

“No, I can handle this myself,” Rhyaenna said. “Go make sure those Yunkai bastards are placed deep within the pyramid. I don’t want them to see the light of day.”

“Of course,” Vyreo said, kissing her lips gently. “And damn… this dress…”

Rhyaenna chuckled softly, playfully pushing him out of the door before turning back to her mother.

Daenerys was curled up, upon the couch, her violet eyes staring off into nothing.

“Mother?” Rhyaenna said, walking to her and kneeling before her. “Mother, it is alright. The Nobles will be handled, now let me get you cleaned up.”

Daenerys moved stiffly, as Rhyaenna lead her to her dressing table and gently pushed her into the chair. Going to her bathing chamber, Rhyaenna ordered the servant girls to bring up boiling hot water for her mother to bathe; before returning to her mother.

Slowly, Rhyaenna began to undress her mother, unweaving the jewels in her hair and untying the ribbons of her dress.

“Murderess…” Daenerys whispered.

Rhyaenna stopped what she was doing and looked down at her mother. “What?”

“Murderess…” Daenerys repeated. “That’s… that’s what they called me.”

Rhyaenna frowned, kneeling in front of her mother. “Who dared call you that? You haven’t killed anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

Hot tears began to slide down Daenerys’s cheeks unchecked. “That’s what your father believed I was… before he killed me.”

“My… my father?” Rhyaenna repeated.

Daenerys shook her head. “No… My child, he’s not."

“But he killed you?” Rhyaenna repeated. “Mother, that’s not possible. How could he have killed you, if you’re sitting right in front of me?”

Daenerys cupped Rhyaenna’s cheeks. “My child… Twenty years ago I was a different person. I believed that I was the rightful queen of Westeros and it became my obsession. That obsession led me to murder thousands, and led your father to kill me to stop my madness.”

“But… you had a reason for this… right?” Rhyaenna asked, desperate for an explanation. “They were only soldiers… right?”

Daenerys shook her head. “They were women… they were children… they were poor and old. In my anger of losing one of my best friends in this world, I burned down a city. I thought that I knew what was best for everyone, and it took a dagger in the heart to humble me.”

“And… my father did this?”

“Yes… he did. Bidden by my former Hand and his sister, your Father did what he thought was best.”

“But it was not what was best!” Rhyaenna yelled, leaping to her feet. “He killed you, and by extension killed me! He’s the murder Mother!”

“Jon only did what he thought was right,” Daenerys countered. “He’s always been like that. He believed that I was a monster and… when I look back, I realize that was what I had become. I had become like my Father.”

“You’re nothing like Grandfather!” Rhyaenna retorted, remembering the tales that her mother had told her about Aerys II. “You are good… you are kind… you made a mistake…”

“A mistake that cost the lives of thousands,” Daenerys replied. “A mistake that I regret to this day.”

“But to kill you?” Rhyaenna asked. “For my father… to kill you…?”

“Jon didn’t enjoy it,” Daenerys said. “As I lay dying, he begged for me to forgive him, and I have. He gave me you… my perfect, beautiful girl.”

Daenerys reached out for her daughter but Rhyaenna pulled away. Hot tears of confusion were pouring down her cheeks, and the last thing she wanted right now was to held by her mother.

Lifting her skirts, Rhyaenna fled from her mother’s chambers sobbing, pushing everyone out of her way. Tears blurred her eyes so that Rhyaenna couldn’t see where she was going, yet somehow she found herself on the private upper balcony. As if sensing her distress, Drogon was there, half-asleep, but lifted his head when he saw her.

Without a second thought, Rhyaenna climbed onto his back, disregarding his harness. The doors behind them burst open just as Drogon spread his wings.

“Rhy!” Daenerys yelled, watching as her two children took off into the sky. “RHY!”

Rhyaenna clung tightly to Drogon’s spines, the wind wiping her tears away as they flew among the darkness. But Rhyaenna wasn’t in control of this ride. Peaking into Drogon’s mind, Rhyaenna realized that the dragon was taking her somewhere. He was taking her home, he was taking her to Valyria.


	8. CHAPTER VII: MOTHER OF DRAGONS

Rhyaenna didn’t know how much time has passed, time always seemed so slow on the back of a dragon. The Meereenese Princess had only heard of Valyria through the tales of her mother, who in turn had heard tales from her brother.

Rhyaenna had always wanted siblings, she always favored big families over small ones. Family was always something that her mother had held near and dear to her heart, now Rhyaenna knew why.

‘ _My own father… killed my mother. He killed me…_ ’ she thought.

Drogon made a nose in his throat, and through their shared minds Rhyaenna understood what he meant.

“Of course, I’m upset about it,” she said to the dragon. “How could I not be?”

Drogon groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Of course, it seems trivial to you! You’re a fucking dragon, everything seems trivial to you!”

A tear slid down Rhyaenna’s cheek.

This was a lot to take in, after all, Daenerys had told her daughter that her father was dead. Rhyaenna had always wondered of course, after all, she looked virtually nothing like her mother.

Yet, the knowledge that the face looking back at her was that of a possible murderer, horrified Rhyaenna.

Drogon groaned again, breaking Rhyaenna from her thoughts. Rhyaenna made sure to grip Drogon’s spines tightly as the dragon found a place to land, dropping heavily upon a large hill. Lowering his shoulder to the ground so that Rhyaenna could get off, Drogon watched the Princess look around.

Everything was dark, misty, foreboding. The ruins of once great buildings loomed in the distance.

This was Valyria.

Hundreds of years ago, it was the most powerful kingdom in the world, ruling for thousands of years. Then, in less than a day, all of that was wiped from the face of the planet. The only survivors were Rhyaenna’s ancestors, the founders of House Targaryen.

“Why did you bring me here?” Rhyaenna asked Drogon. “There is nothing for me here.”

Drogon looked in the distance as if pointing with his long neck. Rhyaenna followed the direction of his gaze but saw nothing save for what looked to be a trio of large mounds.

“What is…?” Rhyaenna began to say, only to be cut off when Drogon spread his wings.

The massive beast took off into the sky, quickly disappearing among the clouds.

“Fucking dragon!” Rhyaenna yelled after him, crossing her arms in a huff.

Drogon had abandoned her there and was for some reason blocking out her out of his mind. Her mother’s words were true, a dragon was a lot a slave, Drogon had a will of his own.

Rhyaenna looked back in the direction in which Drogon had pointed with his neck, curiously clawing at her. Not really having any other choice, the Princess walked in the direction of the mounds, with each step Rhyaenna reflected on her mother’s words.

Daenerys had killed thousands, she had burnt down King’s Landing… but there had to be a reason… right?

Rhyaenna knew her Mother, her Mother always had a reason for doing something. More than once Daenerys had extended mercy to those that Rhyaenna believed didn’t deserve it.

‘ _Could she had begun this practice after her murder?’_ Rhyaenna thought.

Daenerys was many things, Rhyaenna knew, but cold-blooded murder was not something she could take joy in. Rhyaenna didn’t believe that what her mother had done was right, innocent people didn’t deserve to die, but to be stabbed in the heart by her lover was unforgivable. By murdering Daenerys, Jon had inadvertently killed his own daughter, and that was something that Rhyaenna could never forgive nor forget.

Those who plotted and achieved her mother’s murder had to pay for their crimes, that Rhyaenna believed; and they had to pay with their lives. They had driven her mother mad, killed her, and when Daenerys was brought back then forced her mother into exile. The scales had to be balanced.

It would be easy for Rhyaenna to go to Westeros and conquer the land with Drogon. But from the stories Daenerys had told her, Rhyaenna knew that she would be seen as an invader.

No, that was not the right way. It would lead to nothing more than to senseless bloodshed. Rhyaenna would have to enact her mother’s way of conquest, and that was winning the hearts and minds of the people.

Rhyaenna came to a stop in front of one of the large mounds, frowning as she looked it over.

They appeared to be in the shape of a funnel, the sides made of thickly-packed mud and large logs and sticks circling the outside. The sticks and locks were glowing red, blackened and crackling with a dimming fire. It was almost as tall as she was, and there were bones littered around the edges.

Without fear, Rhyaenna reached into the dimming embers to get a better look at the bizarre funnel-line mounds. Rhyaenna had long since known she was immune to fire, as it was a trait that both she and her mother shared.

Grunting softly, Rhyaenna began to tear through the mud, an unknown voice in the back of her mind told the princess that something laid inside. Some hard and hot brushed Rhyaenna’s fingers, driving her forward even more.

Finally, Rhyaenna’s hands wrapped around something, the princess pulling it out from the mound. Above her, the dark clouds parted and the moon shined down to reveal in her hands…. A dragon’s egg.

* * *

 

Rhyaenna’s heart skipped a beat, her violet eyes growing wide as she looked at the magnificent item.

She was holding, in her hands, a dragon’s egg.

Daenerys had told Rhyaenna that Drogon was the last dragon, yet he had two brothers who had died decades before. Rhyaenna racked her brain, trying to remember everything that her mother had told her about dragons.

‘Dragons can change their sex,’ Daenerys had said. ‘To further their line if no mates are around.’

“Drogon… is a girl,” Rhyaenna whispered to herself, unable to stop the chuckle that rumbled in her throat.

Deep down, she had always wondered that. After all, it didn’t make sense for a male to be as fearsome as Drogon was. Rhyaenna had always been surrounded by powerful women, it appeared to Drogon was no different.

Acting quickly, Rhyaenna went back to digging into the mounds; quickly producing six dragon eggs in total.

Laying them on the ground, Rhyaenna picked them up one by one to get a good look at each one. No two eggs had the same pattern, although they did share the same three base colors: red, green and cream. The largest egg was a red and black one, mimicking the color of its mother.

The eggs all felt hot to Rhyaenna’s palms, the young princess imagining that something was moving inside.

Rhyaenna knew that she had to bring these eggs back to Meereen, her mother wouldn’t be able to process this. Yet, Rhyaenna couldn’t shake the feeling that she was supposed to be the one to find these eggs.

A twig snapped behind Rhyaenna, making the Princess quickly turn around. A man emerged from the darkness, a wicked grin upon his lips and a sinister light within his eyes.

“Well, well, well…” he purred, his voice scraping Rhyaenna’s ears. “What do I have here? A little girl lost in these dangerous ruins?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Rhyaenna replied, slowly placing the egg back onto the ground.

“My friends and I…” the man replied, two figures appearing on either side of him. “… were doing a little… I guess you could call it scavenging. Imagine our surprise when we find the most… a mouth-watering little girl. Mind joining us for some fun?”

Rhyaenna knew exactly what these three men wanted, and she wasn’t impressed. They were overweight with heavy swords at their sides, but it was that weight that would be their downfall. Rhyaenna herself was slender and quick, these cutthroats were doing to die to dare and try and rape her.

“If you want me so badly, then come take me,” Rhyaenna taunted them.

The three men drew their swords, spreading out in all directions.

It was rare in which Rhyaenna could use her fighting skills in times other than training. No doubt these cutthroats she was a wilting flower, Rhyaenna was far from it.

The First Man charged at her, swinging his sword in a large arch. Bending down, Rhyaenna grabbed a handful of dirt, tossing it into his face. The Man yowled in surprise and pain, Rhyaenna grabbing the dagger at his side; slicing the back of his ankles. Pushing him to the ground, Rhyaenna had mere moments to spin out of the way as the Second Man brought his sword down; almost cutting her in two. Rhyaenna quickly brought her knee up, smashing his nose onto it and watching as blood poured freely. Grabbing his body, Rhyaenna used him as a shield against the Third Man. She made sure to leap out of the way just in time as the Third Man ran his friend through. With the dagger in her hand, Rhyaenna plunged it deeply into the Third Man’s side.

All three men laid before her, defeated and bloodied, but still alive.

For now.

“You… fucking bitch…” the First Man growled through gritted teeth. “We… We’re going to kill you!”

A loud flapping filled the air as Drogon neared, the dragon sensing the threat against her. All three men became frozen in terror, their eyes wide as the massive beast landed behind Rhyaenna.

The Princess looked at Drogon, then the eggs, then to the men; a memory popping into her head. Her Mother had told her that only death could pay for life, Daenerys sharing her own story of how she watched Drogon and his brothers.

“Someone _is_ going to die tonight,” Rhyaenna said. “And it’s not going to be me.”

* * *

 

Drogon watched as Rhyaenna laid the six dragon eggs in the center of the large pyre she had made from his own ‘hatching ovens’. The dragon’s golden eyes took in the three cutthroats that were tied to the pyre, bound by thick vines that Rhyaenna had found upon the ruins. He had watched them while Rhyaenna gathered everything that she needed, a simple growl ensured that they did not escape.

Rhyaenna wasn’t exactly sure that what she was about to do would work, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t work.

“You crazy bitch!” one of the Cutthroats yelled at her. “Let us go!”

Rhyaenna ignored him, instead of making sure she was satisfied with the positions of the eggs. When she was satisfied, Rhyaenna walked to the center of a pyre and looked to Drogon, dragon tilting his head, his mind connecting with Rhyaenna for confirmation on what she was about to do.

Rhyaenna took a deep breath. Her heart was beating thundering in her chest but Rhyaenna swallowed her fear. ‘I am the blood of the dragon.’

Closing her eyes, Rhyaenna tilted her head and spread her arms in clear and absolute welcome. “Drakarys.”

The Cutthroats all screamed in unison as Drogon opened his mouth, red and black flames washing upon them like water. Rhyaenna felt the heat surround her, wrapping around her like a lovers’ embrace. The dress that she was wearing blackened began to fall apart, her ebony locks snapping and hissing,  whipping in the wind.

It didn’t take long for the Cutthroats’ screams to be silenced, and just as quickly as they did… another sound replaced it.

A loud crack, like stone cracking open, struck the air; ringing loud and true in Rhyaenna’s ears.

_‘One…_ ’ the Princess thought.

**_CRACK!_ **

_‘Two….’_

**_CRACK!_ **

**_CRACK!_ **

_‘Three… Four….’_

**_CRACK!_ **

**_CRACK!_ **

_‘Five… six…’_

Smiling in triumph, Rhyaenna bowed her body down, slowly curling herself into a ball; silently calling Them to her. Rhyaenna could hear Them moving, traveling slowly like bees to flowers, their small bodies crawling over the wood and rock to get to her. Their hot scales pressed against her skin, Their sharp claws dug into her back and arms as They climbed her body… but Rhyaenna did not care.

When the sun rose, the flames had extinguished themselves. Drogon laid next to the pyre, raising his head slowly as he looked upon a now naked Rhyaenna, covered in soot and ash.

Slowly, the Princess raised her head, the movement disturbing the dragonlings that lay upon her shoulders and head. Two were draped across her shoulders, one was on her head, and the other three sat upon her thighs. Carefully, as to make sure none fell, Rhyaenna stood to her feet, clutching her dragonlings close to her chest as Drogon watched her with his—no her—golden eyes.

As she held the six of them, a revelation came to Rhyaenna. Just like her mother, Rhyaenna had become the Mother of Dragons. Just like her Mother, Rhyaenna planned to return to Westeros. But Rhyaenna would not repeat her mother’s mistakes such as marching at the front of in a foreign army and knowing nothing about the land of which she was to rule.

With the hatching of Rhyaenna’s own children, dragons had officially returned to the World. This time, they were not going anywhere.

In a tree sat a raven, watching as Rhyaenna carefully climbed on the back of Drogon; the massive beast taking off into the sky. Its eyes flashed white as, back in King’s Landing, Bran’s mind returned to his own body.

‘All the pieces are fitting into place,’ he thought. ‘I must prepare myself.’


	9. CHAPTER VIII: LEGACY OF THE QUEEN

Daenerys could neither sleep or eat for the day and a half in which her daughter was missing. Unlike Rhyaenna, Daenerys was not a warg and thus could not enter the mind of Drogon to figure out where the couple was.

Worry and anxiousness consumed the Queen of Meereen, as Daenerys pondered the fate of her daughter.

Deep down, Daenerys prayed to gods that Rhyaenna had not flown Drogon back to Westeros. Her daughter could be brash and had a quick temper at times. Rhyaenna was one to stand up for what was right and would defend someone’s honor.

‘Does she think of me as nothing more than a monster now?’ Daenerys wondered to herself, overlooking her massive city. ‘Does she blame me?’

Daenerys wouldn’t blame her daughter if Rhyaenna felt that way. After all, Daenerys had lied to her for all these years and kept secrets, Daenerys would understand if Rhyaenna hated her.

‘Oh Jon, these were times in which I wish you were here. You could help me with this.’

“Your Grace?” a deep voice, said behind Daenerys, making the queen startle.

Daenerys turned around and saw Vyreo. Although the young Braavosi was not a member of her royal guard, he was leading the search for Rhyaenna. The queen knew of his feelings for her daughter, in fact, Daenerys encouraged it; all she wanted was for Rhyaenna to find love.

“Have you found her?” Daenerys asked.

Vyreo shook his head. “We have not, Your Grace. Forgive me.”

Daenerys’s shoulders dropped, the queen turning back to overlook her city. “She is out there… somewhere… alone. A Targaryen alone in the world... is a dangerous thing.”

“Because she has Drogon, Your Grace?” Vyreo asked.

“Partially. Rhy is not in her right mind right now. I fear she might do something quite foolish.”

“That does not sound like the Rhy we know.”

Daenerys’s lips curved into a rueful smile. “Were you going to add ‘and love’? I know of your feelings for my daughter, Vyreo. I have given you my full support for your relationship. Although I wish that you might have shared with me the big news.”

Vyreo arched an eyebrow, confused. “Big… news? What big news, Your Grace?”

“About the child of course,” Daenerys said, turning to look at him. “That was what Rhy was coming to tell me? Before the Yunkai Nobles tried to assassinate me?”

Vyreo felt as if he could be pushed over with a piece of straw. “A… a child? Your Grace, you believe that Rhyaenna is with child.”

“Of course, she is,” Daenerys said, confused now by his confusion. “Did she not tell you either? Could she have wanted to tell us together?”

Vyreo opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of Drogon’s roar filled the air, making them both look up.

Tears of joy filled Daenerys’s eyes as she watched Drogon circle the top of the pyramid, looking for a place to land. Carefully, the dragon climbed down onto the private balcony, both Vyreo and Daenerys’s eyes fastening upon the small form of Rhyaenna; clinging onto his back.

A very… naked, Rhyaenna.

“Get me a robe,” Daenerys commanded Vyreo, rushing to help Rhyaenna from Drogon’s back.

The Braavosi nodded, bowing, hurrying away to do as instructed.

Daenerys held out her hand, a soft prayer of thanks going up to the gods as Rhyaenna clasped it to get down. However, when her daughter finally slid from Drogon’s back, Daenerys thought that an illusion was before her eyes.

Rhyaenna stood before her—very dirty but otherwise unharmed—with six baby dragons clinging to her body.

‘No…’ Daenerys thought, rubbing her eyes. ‘That can’t be right….’

Daenerys blinked, rubbing her eyes twice more, but the six dragonlings did not go away. They were really there, resting upon Rhyaenna’s head, shoulders, and arms.

Vyreo returned with the robe, walking towards Rhyaenna to drape it over here. The young man was an arms-length away from the princess when all six dragonlings hissed in unison. Vyreo jumped, dropping the rope in surprise as the dragonlings hissed and snarled at the intruder who dared get to close to their mother.

“It’s alright,” Rhyaenna assured them. “He is a friend of mind. He will not harm me.”

The dragonlings looked at Rhyaenna with complete obedience, although the one upon Rhyaenna’s eyes continued to lightly snarl.

Vyreo stayed back, not risking losing a finger. Instead, Daenerys stepped forward, moving slowly, making sure the dragonlings saw she was no harm, before draping the robe over Rhyaenna’s shoulders.

“Where… Where did you find them?” Daenerys stammered.

Rhyaenna looked to her mother, her face blank of any emotion. “I will tell you everything if you tell me about my father and why he killed you.”

* * *

 

An hour later, Rhyaenna sat in her mother’s chambers, newly bathed and dressed in fresh silks. The five of the dragonlings laid in a heap in the center of Daenerys’s bed, where the two women sat, one laid in Rhyaenna’s back.

“How… Where…” Daenerys stammered, trying to process this. “Where did you go?”

“Drogon took me to the ruins of Valyria,” Rhyaenna answered, stroking the hot scales of the dragonling in her lap. “The eggs were his.”

“Drogon laid them?” Daenerys asked in awe. “That does make sense. Years ago, many, many years ago, when I first came to Meereen he vanished for months; almost a year. I thought that he had abandoned me, but I see what he was doing. Oh, no, she.”

“Dragons have no set gender, Mother,” Rhyaenna chuckled softly. “Although, between you and me, I always thought that Drogon was too moody to be a man.”

Daenerys couldn’t stop the smile that cracked her lips. “I shall not argue with you with that. but how did you hatch them?”

“I came upon three cutthroats, who were nothing more than raping thieves,” Rhyaenna replied. “And I did what you did. Only Death can Pay for Life. Remember?”

Daenerys’s eyes widened, her eyes traveling to the small pile of dragonlings on the bed. Boldly, she reached out and picked up the smallest one, its scales the color of ebony and unblemished gold. The dragonling let out a small squeal in protest, as it felt itself being lifted; but it did not fight her. Daenerys placed it in her lap and began to stroke its scales, the dragonling instantly purring.

Tears welled in Daenerys’s eyes as memories of her own dragonlings flashed in her head. Out of her three dragon eggs that hatched so many years ago, only Drogon was still alive. The other two were lost.

“This one reminds me of Viserion,” Daenerys whispered. “So small and calm…”

“I will have to name them,” Rhyaenna said. “That I know, but I need to know Mother: what happened? Why did my Father kill you? Please tell me.”

Daenerys took a deep breath, knowing that it was going to be painful to reopen closed wounds. Yet, it had to be done.

“Where do I begin, my Child…?” she sighed. “As you know my own brother sold me into marriage to a Warlord, but I found love in that relationship. After Drogo’s death, and the hatch of my dragons, I conquered Slaver’s Bay but was met with open rebellion constantly. I thought that Meereen was not my home, that I did not belong here, Westeros was. My brother had told me stories about the kingdom, how it was ours by right and I believed that.

“Everything seemed so fine when I finally landed, I even had support by Yara Greyjoy and the Martells. I even had a Lannister as my Hand. But everything went terrible so quickly… When your Father, known only as Jon Snow then, arrived; I was guarded, protecting myself. I was so used to me using me, that I thought he was the same. But Jon was kind to me, and all he wanted was my aid to defeat the White Walkers.”

“White Walkers?” Rhyaenna interrupted. “What was that?”

“Oh, living dead creatures that wanted to consume all living things,” Daenerys replied. “At first I didn’t believe him, but as the days went by, I found myself falling in love with him. My true feelings were revealed when he went North to capture one and bring it to Cersei Lannister; the tyrant so-called Queen of Westeros. When I heard that he was in danger, without a second thought I went to save him. But it cost me one of my Children…”

“Which one was that?” Rhyaenna asked.

A tear slid down Daenerys’s cheek. “Viserion. I would picture him as the youngest of the trio. He was so calm, sweet as sugared wine, but would defend me without a second thought. The Night King killed him, and I watched it. I shall never forget it. Later, Jon formally bent the knee.

“We tried to convince Cersei of the incoming danger, but all she could think about was her own power. While we marched North and prepared to battled the dead, she hired the Golden Company and build scorpions to kill my remaining children. I tried to win the North, I gave them all that I had, but they scorned me without a second thought. They didn’t care that I had brought two large armies and two grown dragons, all they saw was an invader.

“During the battle, I lost another of my closest friends and almost Jon. Before the battle, he told me a great secret. Do you remember why I was sent into exile in my youth?”

Rhyaenna nodded. “Because everyone believed that Uncle Rhaegar kidnapped a woman called Lyanna Stark.”

“That was a lie,” Daenerys said. “Rhaegar never kidnapped her. He never raped her. He loved her, and she him. Their love produced a child, Jon.”

Rhyaenna’s eyebrows shot up. “So… my Father is… wait also, my cousin?”

“I don’t exactly know the correct term for it,” Daenerys replied. “But yes, we were related. But, I did not care. I loved Jon, and I knew he loved me. But once he found out the truth he grew more and more distant. His bitch of a sister, Sansa, used this to her advantage. Jon swore her to keep it a secret, he told her in front of a weirwood tree too; a sacred item in the North too. And in less than an hour, she broke it. My advisors turned on me, all going to Jon’s side because he was a man. It didn’t matter that Jon didn’t want it, they were trying to force it on him.

“Then… Yara’s Uncle ambushed us, on our way back to Dragonstone. He murdered Rhaegal and took my greatest friend—Missandei—captive. Her lover, Grey Worm, and I were forced to watch as Cersei beheaded her. I tried to turn to Jon for comfort. I needed comfort, I needed to be held, I needed to be loved, I needed to be told that everything was going to be alright; even if it wasn’t. I just needed support. But even he refused me. He couldn’t even look at me, let alone kiss me.

“When I found out that Varys, one of my greatest supporters was attempting to poison me; that was the final nail in the coffee. I executed him, and then, the following morning, had my armies lined up outside of King’s Landing. I had promised Tyrion, my Hand, that if the bells rang then I would call off the invasion; as that meant the city had surrendered. But… but when I heard them…”

Rhyaenna looked to her mother, needing to hear her next words. “Mother, what did you do?”

“I burned almost everything to the ground…” Daenerys confessed. “I burned down a city that housed hundreds of thousands of people…”

“But… you had a good reason to do it, right?” Rhyaenna asked.

Daenerys looked into her violet eyes. “I want to say that I did. That I saw a threat that no one else did, but that isn’t the truth. I was wrong. I did not have to kill those people, but I did. I made that war personal, I wanted to punish those people for abandoning me, for abandoning my family. In my eyes, those people took everything from me. And I was wrong. And that was why Jon killed me.”

“But how… how are you here?” Rhyaenna asked. “You do not look dead to me.”

“The Red Priest of Volantis resurrected me,” Daenerys replied. “And I swore, then and there, that I would want nothing to do with Westeros. When I learned that I was carrying you, it was the happiest time of my life. I had a second chance to make everything right. So, with Drogon, I returned to Meereen, reconquered the other Great Cities, and made this our paradise. I do not want to return to Westeros, I have all that I could ever want.”

Rhyaenna listened to her mothers every words, knowing that she meant it. She took a deep breath and looked Daenerys in the eyes. “Then I hate to upset you because I am going to Westeros, and I am going to conquer it in the name of our Family.”

* * *

 

“WHAT?!” Daenerys exclaimed, startling the dragonling that laid in her lap.

“Mother, there is no reason to yell,” Rhyaenna said, rolling her eyes. “But you heard me, I am going to Westeros, and I’m going to conquer it in the name of our Family.”

“Rhy, there is nothing for us there,” Daenerys retorted. “Our place is here. Our home is here. We have almost an empire here, people who love and support us. Westeros is nothing compared to that. They’d reject you the moment you land.”

Rhyaenna shook her head. “No Mother, what is where I believe you are wrong. Westeros rejected you, but they will not reject me. I have the blood of their legendary hero in my veins, I am half North.”

“You are also half Targaryen,” Daenerys pointed out. “Do you assume that they will not see that half?”

Rhyaenna crossed her arms. “Mother, I know a little bit of what is going on in Westeros, Alarina is from there, remember? She has not told me much—by your instruction I believe now—but has explained that all is not right there. The kingdom is very unstable because the nobles do not love nor fear their king. You taught me that a good ruler must have an ideal balance of both, as well as wisdom. By telling me your story, I know that I can avoid the same mistake.”

Daenerys tried to not flinch at the word ‘mistakes’. “Say you get an army to march for you, the Westerosi will not accept foreigners.”

“That’s why my army would not be foreigners,” Rhyaenna retorted. “My army will be Westeros itself, from its highest lord to its lowest smallfolk. I will do what you have done, and build a kingdom founded on love and trust. Our ancestor, Aegon the Conquer, had a lesser right to the kingdom than you and I do; but he won the throne by Right of Conquest.”

“Aegon had dragons,” Daenerys said. “I will not risk Drogon for such an endeavor.”

“Then don’t,” Rhyaenna said. “Mother, I have six dragons.”

“Six newly hatched dragons,” Daenerys reminded her. “They are babies.”

“And they will grow,” Rhyaenna said with determination. “I am not planning to uproot everything right now, to travel to Westeros. I will bide my time. It took you five years to gather your armies and prepare for the march on the kingdom. I will do it in half the time. We already have the Greyjoy fleet, that I know, Alarina’s mother is still loyal to you. I am sure other House’s are the same way.”

Daenerys was still not convinced. “As a mother, it’s my duty to support you, to love you, to help you in all things. But I will not lose my last two children, I will go mad if a single hair of yours is damaged.”

Rhyaenna carefully lifted the dragonling out of her lap and walked to her mother’s side. Taking Daenerys’s hands in hers, she knelt before her, looking into her eyes. “All my life you have told me that I was destined for greatness, that I was the Blood of the Dragon. You have shown me the strength that I did not even know possible. I do not go to Westeros for vengeance, but instead, I go for justice. That throne belongs to House Targaryen, as it was only during the time of our reign was their true peace in that land. I make you this oath that with my dragons I shall unite the kingdom into one again. As the heir of you and Father, I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I will.”

Hot tears were sliding down Daenerys’s cheeks, tears of joy and tears of pride. The girl looking up at Daenerys was the product of her and Jon’s love, and if there was anyone in the world that would unite Westeros; then it was Rhyaenna.

“If that is your choice and your belief then I shall support you,” Daenerys said. “But I will not go to Westeros as a conqueror, as you do. I will only advise you, as I know the faults of having a lackluster council. When you are secure in your throne, I will return to Meereen. Westeros is yours, Meereen is mine.”

Rhyaenna kissed her mother’s hands, smiling softly as Daenerys’ rubbed her cheek like she did when she was a girl. It was going to take her dragons some time to grow, Rhyaenna knew. She only had two-and-a-half years though. Everything had to be perfect before they could begin the conquest, and Rhyaenna knew exactly where they could start. She would talk to Alarina, send her friend back to Westeros to ask her mother if any Houses were still allies with Daenerys. If any could be found, they would be brought to Meereen immediately. Everything had to be perfect.

Rhyaenna turned to the sleeping dragons and smiled softly, sitting back on the bed. “I believe we should name them, after all, they are living creatures too.”

Daenerys nodded, smiling at the one still asleep in her lap. “What did you have in mind?”

Rhyaenna picked up the largest hatchling and carefully turned it onto it’s back. The hatchling instantly began to wiggle, squealing in protest, but Rhyaenna tried to hold it still. When Rhyaenna was younger, Vyreo and Alarina had explained to her how to tell the sex of replies. The easiest way to tell was that males had two large ‘bulges’ at base of the tail, mimicking a man’s balls. Females did not. However; since dragons could easily change sex, it was going to be more difficult to figure out.

“I believe this one is a girl,” Rhyaenna said, turning the dragonling back over.

It was a seemingly perfect duplicate of its sire, Drogon, with scales and spines the color of pitch-darkness and burning coals. It also was the most spirited and feisty, having quickly asserted its dominance over its fellow hatchlings.

“I think… I’m going to call her Aenerys,” Rhyaenna declared. “After Aegon the Conquer.”

Daenerys looked at her daughter. “Is that what you wish? To name them after former Targaryen Kings?”

“And Queens,” Rhyaenna said, looking under the tail of the black and gold color dragon in her mother’s lap. “I believe we should name this one… Visevon. After Queen Visenya.”

Daenerys nodded, making sure she remembered that.

Within thirty minutes all the hatchlings were named, all after the greatest of the Targaryen Kings and Queen. A mint-green and cream-colored female was named Jaeherya, after King Jaehaerys I; and a black and cream-colored female named Daenae, after King Daeron II). There were two other males, a cream and gold one that Rhyaenna named Rhaevar, after Queen Rhaenys; and a mint-green and gold one named Alyserion, after Queen Alysanne.

“You have children now,” Daenerys said, once all the hatchlings were named. “Well… then again you always had one, I suppose. I just can not believe you didn’t tell me.”

Rhyaenna arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you not tell me that you were with child?” Daenerys asked.

Rhyaenna’s eyes bulged out of her head, then she doubled over, laughing. “Mother, where did you get that idea?”

“You said that you wanted to speak with me at the feast,” Daenerys replied. “I assumed that you were going to tell me that you carried Vyreo’s child.”

Rhyaenna’s face bloomed red. “Mother, no… no that’s not what I was going to tell you. I am not with child. I use a herb to prevent pregnancy as I know that I’m not ready for a child now. But I wanted to tell you that I could enter Drogon’s mind, I can see what he can see, feel what he can see.”

“Then you are a warg then,” Daenerys said. “Your Father’s adopted brother and the current King of Westeros is one as well. I do not know exactly what it means, but you have the same ability.”

Rhyaenna nodded and picked up Aenerys, the she-dragonling crawling up her arm to drape herself around Rhyaenna’s shoulders. “Then I will learn about it and train with it. The union of you and Father has produced me, a Daughter of Dragons and Wolves; and I plan to seize my throne with Fire and Blood.”


	10. Chapter IX: WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE

Alarina was overjoyed when Vyreo told her that Rhyaenna was still alive, having returned to Meereen safe and sound. And… with six dragonlings. Curious, the Iron Born Princess went to her friends’ room and knocked on the door twice.

“Come in,” Rhyaenna called from inside, her face lighting up with joy when she saw Alarina.

“You’re safe,” Alarina said, rushing to give Rhyaenna a tight hug.

No sooner had she done so, did something heavy bump against Alarina’s thigh. The young woman looked down and saw a cream and gold colored dragonling, headbutting her leg.

“So, it’s true,” Alarina said, bending down to look at the creature. “You have become a Mother of Dragons.”

“I don’t claim the title,” Rhyaenna said, sitting down on her bed. “I’ll always believe it’ll belong to my own Mother. But Alarina, I am glad that you came, because I need you to do something for me.”

Alarina inclined her head. “What’s that?”

“Tell me about Westeros,” Rhyaenna replied.

Alarina’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Why do you want to know about Westeros?”

“Because I’m going to conquer it.”

Alarina nodded. “I see. I’m guessing the Queen has tried to talk you out of it?”

“And after I told her my plan, she finally agreed to support me. But made it clear that she has no desire to sit upon the throne herself,” Rhyaenna said. “She will help me, but once all is well then she is returning to Meereen.”

“Good, so I can save my breath then,” Alarina said, sitting down next her friend. “Now, what exactly do you wish to know?”

“The power structure,” Rhyaenna replied. “What Houses are in power, who is the head of those House’s.”

“Well, it’s a lot more difficult than you would think,” Alarina explained. “After the death of your mother, the North ceded and became its own kingdom. But it’s very unstable. Sansa Stark—the so-called ‘queen’—is unmarried, and has said that she plans to stay that way.”

“And that means she must not have any children, correct?” Rhyaenna asked.

Alarina nodded. “Not only that, but Sansa is… not as loved as she used to be. When she left the rest of the Kingdoms, she was cheered and praised. But it quickly became apparent that she took on more than she could handle.”

“What do you mean?”

“For starters, there is the actual border, that divides the North and the South,” Alarina explained. “A lot of people in the South believe that the line should be right at the top of the Riverlands. But other people in the North believe that it should be at the furthest reaches of the Erie as well as half the Riverlands. More than once, there have been miniature wars fought over the borders. Not only that, but the North and the South are different culturally.”

Rhyaenna nodded, listening. “When my mother was in Westeros, what House’s were loyal to her?”

“There was House Greyjoy of course, but also House Martell and House Baratheon.”

Rhyaenna’s eyebrows shot up. “House Baratheon? I thought that it was extinct. Mother said that all members were dead.”

Alarina tapped her chin. “She must have forgotten Gendry, the bastard son of Robert Baratheon. After he proved his worth against the Army of the Dead, your mother legitimized him, and he became the Lord of the Stormlands.”

“Interesting… what is his position now?”

Alarina shrugged. “Last I heard he was still the Lord of the Stormlands. His eldest son, Robert, is being openly pushed as Bran’s heir; as the man is a cripple and has no interest in women.”

“And thus can not father children…” Rhyaenna thought aloud. “If I am to conquer Westeros, then I am going to need a Westerosi army. My mother made the mistake by bringing in outsiders, and that only added to the hatred of the people. It’s too early to move onto the Stormlands, as it’s to close to the capital, isn’t it?”

Alarina nodded. “But you already have House Greyjoy behind you, that’s the start, isn’t it?”

“But it’s not a big start,” Rhyaenna said, frowning to think. “Wars also are going to cost money… and there is one city that I know of that has a lot of it.”

“Braavos.”

Rhyaenna nodded. “The Iron Bank. Vyreo’s Father is the First Sword, with his reach, I’m sure to be able to get an audience with them.”

“But the Iron Bank won’t just give money to anyone,” Alarina pointed out. “Westeros has been deep in their pocket before, and is still deep in their pocket is rumor speaks true. Why would they do business with you?”

Rhyaenna smirked as she picked up one of her gold bracelets. “Because I’m going to do what the former king and queens of the kingdom could not do. I’m going to pay off the Thrones’ debts and open a bank account with them.”

“That’s going to take a lot of money…” Alarina said.

“My mother rules all three of the Great Cities,” Rhyaenna said dismissively. “After casting down the Great Master’s and taking their wealth, there is more than enough to be given as ‘gifts’.”

“But if the Queen has so much, why not fund this campaign yourself?” Alarina asked.

“Because I’ve learned from my Mother that ruling is all about making allegiances,” Rhyaenna explained. “By opening this account, it gives Braavos a foothold with the Great Cities and this side of Essos. Not only that but the Free Cities were formed by slaves escaping the Valyrian Freehold. My mother is called the Breaker of Chains for a reason.”

Alarina nodded, slowly understanding. “I see. So, what do you want me to do?”

“I plan on being ready to conquer Westeros in two-and-a-half years,” Rhyaenna said. “Within that time I will secure the money and allegiances needed to begin my conquest. That is why I need you. I need you to travel to Westeros to talk to your Mother. She’s been loyal to mine for all this time, and I want to continue that friendship. I need you to find House’s that would be loyal to me, and help me in my conquest.”

Alarina looked to the sleeping dragonling that lay next to Rhyaenna’s leg. “And… the dragons? Do you plan to use them in your conquest?”

“They are apart of my plan,” Rhyaenna replied. “But I have no desire to unleash them all at once. Plus, these two years will allow me more time to train them and my abilities.”

Alarina nodded. “An idea just came to me. As the daughter of Jon Snow, you have a claim to the North.”

Rhyaenna inclined her head. “I did not know that.”

“He was crowned as King of the North, and since Sansa has no children you, legally, could be seen as her heir to both the North and of House Stark.”

The thought did make Rhyaenna smirk. As far as she was concerned, this Sansa Stark was one of the leaders of the downfall of her mother. This Sansa would be among the first to kneel before her. As if reading Rhyaenna’s mind, Alarina rose from the bed and knelt before her friend.

“Alarina, what are you doing?” Rhyaenna asked.

“What needs to be done,” Alarina replied. “Allow me to be the first to swear allegiance to you, Your Grace, Rhyaenna of Houses Targaryen and Stark, First of Your Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

* * *

 

A couple of weeks later, two sits sat docked in the Meereen Bay. Alarina’s Greyjoy ship, and massive vessel that was to serve as Rhyaenna’s way of transportation to Braavos. The journey to both Westeros and Braavos would take no less than three months, which would help these next two years pass quicker.

“How long do you think you will be in Braavos?” Alarina asked Rhyaenna, the two women walking alongside the docks.

“Hopefully no longer than two months, maybe three,” Rhyaenna replied. “I do not want to rush this.”

“Three months plus the three it’ll take to get there, you’ll already spend half a year in Braavos,” Alarina pointed out. “Not to mention the three months it’ll take you to get back.”

Rhyaenna shrugged. “It’ll give my dragons more time to grow, which is a benefit I greatly desire.”

Alarina looked at the red-and-black dragonling that sat upon her friend’s shoulder. It had already more than tripled in size when it first arrived in Meereen. It was Rhyaenna’s favorite, a fiery little thing that was the exact copy of its sire. Alarina figured that Rhyaenna was trying to wait for it to grow large enough to ride, which if the dragonling continued at the pace it was already on, then it would be more than large enough.

“I will try to keep contact with you as best as I can,” Alarina said. “Although with a great distance, it will be difficult. I suppose it’s good though, that Lord Tyrion does not yet have a Master of Whispers.”

“A Master of Whispers… they are supposed to be the spymaster for the current king or queen of Westeros, correct?” Rhyaenna asked.

Alarina nodded. “That might have changed while I was gone, but perhaps we can use it to our advantage.”

“Perhaps,” Rhyaenna said.

Vyreo appeared, slipping his arm around Rhyaenna’s waist, only to be snapped at by the dragonling. Both young women laughed, but Vyreo looked less than amused.

“It’s best that we leave now,” Vyreo said. “If we desire to keep the wind in our favor.”

Alarina rolled her eyes playfully, as a Greyjoy she did not fear storms or wild winds. But she did turn and hug Rhyaenna, which surprised Vyreo has he had never seen the Iron Princess show any type of soft emotions.

“You can do this, my friend,” Alarina said to Rhyaenna before letting her go. She held out her arm. “What is dead, may never die.”

Rhyaenna clasped her arm. “But rises again harder and stronger.”

* * *

 

It took Alarina three-and-a-half months to reach the Iron Islands, longer than the girl would have wanted. But, she knew that they had to be careful. She was walking a thin line, virtually treason, against King Bran; but Alarina knew that it was for the better.

The realm needed a strong ruler, not a cripple hiding behind a half-functioning council.

As her ship neared Pyke, Alarina walked among the deck, looking out at her home. Collectively, Alarina had spent more time in Meereen then she had in Westeros, but she still called the continent home. Like Rhyaenna, Alarina was a princess, although no one openly used the title. Under Daenerys, Alarina’s mother would have ruled as Queen of the Iron Islands, as Daenerys had agreed to let them have their independence. But under King Bran—more-so ‘King’ Tyrion—the Iron Islands were once again under the thumb of the South.

A figure stood on the beaches of Pyke, a woman by the looks of it, with three small children at her side.

Alarina couldn’t stop the smile of joy that split her cheeks when she recognized her mother. Yara Greyjoy stood tall and mighty among the rocky beach, her bannermen in the distance, her younger children at her side. All there waiting for Alarina, as the young woman had sent word ahead of her arrival.

No sooner than the gangplank had been lowered, as Alarina rushing down it to greet her family. Yara spread her arms, her eldest child flinging herself into them, hugging her mother close.

“Mother…” Alarina whispered.

Yara smiled, rubbing the back of Alarina’s head. “Hello to you too.”

“Alri! Alri!” Alarina’s younger brother, Theon, said, jumping up and down, wanting attention too.

Yara let Alarina go so that the young woman could bend down and hug her younger siblings. The Iron Queen was not the type of woman to settle down, although she did follow the traditions of the Ironborn. While most men within the Iron Islands were monogamous, it was known that the elite did have more than one wife. Ironborn men could have one true wife—known as Rock Wives—who were Ironborn themselves. However, at the same time, if an Ironborn man was rich enough to afford and could support them, then he could have several lesser-ranked wives known as Salt Wives. These women were lower in rank than the true Rock Wives but were not servants or concubines. Their children were seen as virtually the same as true children, and could even inherit property from their fathers.

As the Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands Yara did have on Rock Husband, a fierce Ironborn man named George Goodbrother. George was Alarina’s father, thus marking Alarina as Yara’s heir, but Yara also had several Salt Husbands. It was through these unions that bore Alarina’s younger siblings: the twins Theron and Balon, and a girl named Asha.

“Hello to you three too,” Alarina chuckled, hugging them all. “Have you missed me.”

“I did,” Asha said. “It’s no fun when you’re gone. The boys won’t swordfight with me!”

“That’s because you play too rough,” little Theon said, wiping at his nose, having been fighting a cold.

“Did you bring us anything from… the City?” Balon whispered.

The City was the codeword that Yara used to speak about Meereen. Although Yara trusted her men, she could never be too careful as only a handful knew of her true loyalties and where Alarina spent most of her time.

“I do,” Alarina said, grinning. “I have gifts for all of you. How about I give them to you after I’ve rested and talked to Mother?”

The children nodded, although it was clear to Alarina that they wouldn’t leave her alone until they received their gifts.

“Is Father inside?” Alarina asked her Mother.

Yara shook her head. “He is in Tyrosh at the moment. But he did send you a present. He said that he was sure that you’d love it.”

Alarina grinned. Her father always did give the best presents, but now wasn’t the time to be giddy. She had to talk to her mother about Rhyaenna’s decision, and she had to do it now.

The couple hurried to the castle that was built among the rocks, Yara leading Alarina to her chambers and closing the door behind them.

“I’ll cut the pleasantries,” Yara said, sitting down in her chair. “How is Daenerys?”

“Good,” Alarina said, leaning against the wall. “But Mother, I have something important to tell you. Rhyaenna has decided to invade Westeros.”

Yara arched an eyebrow. “She has? Has her mother told her of what happened last time a Targaryen crossed the Narrow Sea at the head of a foreign army?”

“Rhy isn’t coming here at the head of a foreign army,” Alarina replied. “She says that she plans to march at the head of a Westerosi Army.”

“And how does she plan to do that?”

“By building allegiances of course. As we speak, she is on a boat to Braavos. There, she plans to win the Iron Bank to her side. While she is doing that, she needs our help.”

“Doing what?”

“Find the people still loyal to House Targaryen. There has to be some House’s that still is.”

Yara sat back in her chair. “Even if we found House’s that are willing to risk their necks for this girl, what right does she plan to use to claim she’s the rightful heir to the throne?”

“Through her mother and father of course.” Alarina looked at her mother. “Rhy knows, about what her Mother did, about who her father really is. She plans to use her father’s claim, as well as her mothers, to put herself as the rightful Queen of Westeros.”

“And if the House’s don’t bow to that?”

“Then they’ll bow to her six dragons.”

Yara’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you just say… six dragons?”

“When the Queen told Rhy the truth, Rhy ran away. Drogon took her to Valyria and it was there she found the dragon eggs that the creature had laid,” Alarina explained. “She then used three cutthroats as a sacrifice and then the eggs hatched.”

“So, they’re just babies still.”

“For now. Dragons grow quickly, Mother. Rhy’s planning to invade Westeros within two-and-a-half years. Three have already passed while I traveled here, and no doubt that Rhy still has about a month to go before she reached Braavos.”

“Then that doesn’t give us a lot of time,” Yara said.

Alarina nodded. “Exactly. I already gave her the allegiance of House Greyjoy. I was correct too, right?”

“Of course, you were,” Yara said firmly. “House Greyjoy will always stand behind Daenerys and her descendants. She was the first person who saw me as an equal ruler, and thus earned my eternal respect and loyalty. It’s a shame that she was into men, I would have claimed her as a Rock Wife, even if she wasn’t Ironborn.”

Alarina couldn’t stop the chuckle that rumbled in her chest. “Focus Mother. What other House’s would still be loyal to House Targaryen? It can be big, and it can be small.”

Yara frowned, sitting back in her chair to think. “The current rulers of Dorne might be interested in giving support.”

Alarina inclined her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, as you know, several pieces of the realm are in seemingly open-secret rebellion against the Crown,” Yara explained. “But you don’t know exactly how bad it is. No one fears Bran, no one really loves Bran. All anyone sees is Tyrion, the Imp who got away with killing King Joffrey, his own Father, and pushed Jon Snow to murder the Dragon Queen. Their circle of support is small and growing smaller by the day. Dorne was never truly apart of the Seven Kingdoms, and when Bran was crowned it stayed that way.”

“Who rules Dorne now?” Alarina

“There was a person who claimed to member a member of House Martell, but it was quickly revealed that they were lying. There is a small civil war going on, but the winners are looking to be House Yronwood.”

Alarina had never heard of House Yronwood, but they had to be powerful enough if they were close to seizing power in Dorne. “What do you want me to do? Go and see if they’ll sign a treaty with Rhy?”

Yara nodded. “The Lord of House Yronwood was a great warrior, but it’s rumored that he’s ruled by his wife, a member of House Dayne named Anera. If you convince her to join Daenerys’s daughter, then you will convince the husband.”

Alarina nodded, understanding. “Alright, I’ll head out in the next week or so. Any other House’s you think we can trust with this secret?”

“At the moment, only Dorne can fully be trusted as the rest of the Kingdom is too fragile. I will send inquiries up North, maybe some of our spies with Sansa’s household can help us.”

“Alright. Thank you, Mother, I will not let you down.”

Yara smiled and walked to her daughter. “You never have, and I don’t ever expect you too.”


	11. CHAPTER X: THE FIRST SWORD OF BRAAVOS

The shouts of sailors filled Rhyaenna’s ears as she carefully walked down the gangplank, and stepped onto the Braavosi seaport. Four months, that’s how long she had been at sea, and the Meereenese Princess was more than happy to be back on land. Rhyaenna had never been on a ship that long before, although her ship did stop at the important ports on the way to Braavosi so that the crew could stretch their legs.

Rhyaenna stayed close to the ship though, she had too, she had to keep an eye upon Aenerys. The red-and-black she-dragon was the only dragon that Rhyaenna had brought with her to Braavos, as she didn’t want to cause a scene. The main problem was that in those four months of travel, Aenerys had grown expeditiously, much father than Rhyaenna had thought possible.

Every day Aenerys flew along-side the ship, her body growing by the day. As the daughter of Drogon—the massive reptile would forever be known by that name by both Daenerys and Aenerys—it made sense that Aenerys would grow quickly. The night before the ship docked at the main port of Braavos, Rhyaenna sat on the deck, stroking Aenerys’s head. The she-dragon was the size of a large dog, perhaps one of those mythical direwolves that Alarina told Rhyaenna about.

But Aenerys was still too small to ride.

Rhyaenna did not want to ride Drogon onto battle, as he was her mother’s dragon. Daenerys had let Rhyaenna train how to fly on Drogon, but it didn’t feel right for the princess to claim her mother’s dragon. Now, because of the dragon eggs, Rhyaenna had her chose in mounts, and she wanted Aenerys. Aenerys was following in the footsteps of her fire, in strength, speed, and fierceness.

“What do you think, of my home?” Vyreo asked, startling Rhyaenna from her thoughts.

The Princess blinked, looking around. Although this port was for the wealthy and noble class of Braavosi to dock their ships, there were still peddlers and beggars. There also weren’t any trees or flowers, for Rhyaenna to see.

“What port is this?” Rhyaenna asked, making sure to lift her skirts out of the way to prevent them from being soiled in a puddle.

“It’s called Purple Harbor,” Vyreo replied, pointing in the distance. “You see that palace in the distance?”

Rhyaenna looked in the direction of his finger. The palace had several large domes and towers, decorated with bright blues, glittering golds, and sparkling silvers. “Yes, what is it?”

“That is the Sealord’s Palace,” Vyreo replied, wrapping his arm around her waist, protectively. “That is where we will be heading in a couple of days.”

“Why?” Rhyaenna asked, curious.

“I sent word to my father ahead of our journey that I was coming. No doubt he told the Sealord—he is the First Sword of Braavos after all—and both wish to throw a ball in my honor. Although, if I’m being truthful, if I had the choice then I would skip it.”

“Why? Is the wine really that bad here?”

Vyreo shook his head, laughing. “No. The Sealord has a daughter, whom he has been attempting to push on me for as long as I can remember.”

Rhyaenna stopped, a jealous thrill shooting through her body. “Oh really? What does she look like?”

Vyreo tapped his chin, pretending to think it over. “Her mother is from… Lys, I believe. So, she is pale, as pale as milk, I think, with white/gold hair that she dyes various colors, and dark-blue eyes. She is also quite slender; I believe as well.”

“You make her sound as if she’s the most beautiful woman in the world,” Rhyaenna said hotly.

“My Love, in Braavos, it is against the law to say that anyone other than the Nightingale or the Black Pearl is the most beautiful women in the world,” Vyreo replied, before pulling Rhyaenna close, burying his face in her neck. “But I would risk everything… to say that you were the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Rhyaenna’s pride made her smile, the Princess playfully pushing her lover away as she laughed. “Vyreo, stop that… people are staring…”

Vyreo chuckled, taking hold of her hand. “Good, let them know that you are mine. But you are right. In fact, we should hurry, my Father, is waiting for us at my family estate.”

A palanquin was waiting for the young couple, armed guards standing on the side sides. They bore the sigil of Vyreo’s house, a blue longsword with blue ripples around it, signifying waves of water. Vyreo helped Rhyaenna into the palanquin first, before climbing in after her.

“My love, while we are here, I would request that you do something,” Vyreo said.

“And what is that?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Do not use your real name,” Vyreo replied.

Rhyaenna arched an eyebrow. “Why? The whole reason I am here is to meet with the Iron Bank, they need to know who I am, in order to support me.”

“Then wait until you meet with the Iron Bank to use your real name,” Vyreo replied.

“But surely your Father already knows of me?” Rhyaenna pointed out. “After all, my mother sent for him to train me, and I got you instead.”

“He does,” Vyreo nodded. “But think of it this way: many different types of people come to Braavos, as we aren’t that far from certain Westerosi ports. It would be easy for them to locate you, and then kill you.”

Rhyaenna frowned, thinking over his words. Vyreo was right. It was too early for her to reveal herself. Her mother always beat her whenever the two were playing cards, but that was because Rhyaenna already revealed her hand too soon. She needed to take her time.

“Alright then,” Rhyaenna said nodding. “I am not Rhyaenna Targaryen. I am… Siranea Paenos. The daughter of a wealthy merchant from Pentos.”

Vyreo nodded, holding out his hand. “Greetings, Lady Siranea Paenos. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

* * *

 

Vyreo’s family estate was like a miniature city, to Rhyaenna. It was built on rivers and canals, great structures that would make any noble from another city jealous. In fact, once Rhyaenna and Vyreo excited their palanquin, they had to take a small barge up one of the canals to even reach the front of an estate.

A dozen people were waiting for them, an elderly man, an elderly woman, a young man who looked to be only a couple of years older than Vyreo, a woman that Rhyaenna did not know; and several children.

“Father!” Vyreo called in jubilation, exiting the barge. “Mother.”

“Vyri!” the elderly woman squealed, holding out her arms for Vyreo.

“Vyri?” Rhyaenna laughed, under her breath as Vyreo took her hand.

“It’s a family nickname,” Vyreo chuckled, helping Rhyaenna from the barge. “I swear if you call me that…”

“I make so such promises,” Rhyaenna teased, following him as he leads her to the group of people.

Vyreo shook his head, letting go of Rhyaenna’s hand as he turned to the elderly woman who had spoken, smiling warmly to her. “Mother… Father…”

“You’re back,” his Mother said.

“How long do you plan to stay, this time?” his Father asked.

“As long as… it takes,” Vyreo said, choosing his words carefully. He stepped back. “Mother, Father, Brother, you, of course, know Rhyaenna.”

Vyreo’s Father, Mother, and Elder Brother all bowed.

“It’s an honor, Your Grace,” Vyreo’s Mother said.

“Please, no need to be so formal,” Rhyaenna said, clasping her hands in front of her, smiling softly. “You all are like family to me, at least you should be, by now.”

“Allow me to introduce my wife and children,” Vyreo’s Older Brother, Aeror, said, motioning to the woman and children who stood at his side. “This is Orora, and our children: Erlissa, Belyllo, Feraya, Maros,” he then rubbed Orora’s belly. “And one more yet to come.”

Orora quickly dipped down in the curtsy, the children wobbling to do the same.

“It’s lovely to meet you all, truly,” Rhyaenna said, continuing to smile.

“The honor is ours, Your Grace,” Orora said, resting her hand on her belly. “My husband has told me a lot about you. Now, seeing your beauty, I understand how Vyreo fell in love with you.”

“She also is smarter than most men, so there is that too,” Vyreo chuckled.

“Welcome to our home,” Vyreo’s Father said, gesturing to the massive building. “Our home is your home. Our servants, our wine, our food is at your whim.”

“I’m also sure that you are hungry,” Vyreo’s Mother said. “Once you are settled food and drinks will be brought up to your rooms.”

“Thank you,” Rhyaenna said, nodding. “You are all too kind.”

Vyreo took her hand again, leading Rhyaenna into the building. The walls were whitewashed, the stone cool to the touch. The city wasn’t as… ‘rustic’, as Rhyaenna would describe in Meereen. There, slavery was the main force behind the economy until Daenerys came. In Braavos, it was founded by freed and escaped slaves, swiftly becoming the richest of the Free Cities.

“So, you grew up here,” Rhyaenna said, following Vyreo down the halls.

“Yes, I did,” Vyreo replied. “It feels so… so strange, to be back. I mean I come home often, you know that, but this time just feels… so different. I’m not here for pleasure, I’m here to help you achieve your birthright.”

“Well, I hope that there is some pleasure that comes out of this,” Rhyaenna said, smirking.

Vyreo grinned. “Oh… yes. I hope there is some pleasure as well.”

He stopped in front of a large door, nodding to it. “This is your chambers, mine is down the hall. I would prefer that we were housed together, but for the sake of my Mother…”

Rhyaenna chuckled. “I understand. Thank you, Vyreo.”

“I’m going to return to the port so that our ships can be directed here,” Vyreo said. “Our items will be brought in soon. Can I get you anything?”

Rhyaenna shook her head. “No, I’m alright. I’ll be waiting.”

Vyreo nodded, turning to leave.

Once he was gone, Rhyaenna turned to look out the window. She was here, she was in Braavos, and it was time to start. ‘Shall we begin?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the next chapter, we will be heading back to Westeros, meeting House Yronwood. A little spoiler, they were (well now are) the most powerful House in Dorne, after the Martells. In fact, before Queen Nymeria and her husband conquered all of Dorne, they ruled as High Kings of Dorne for centuries. As they didn't get involved much in the previous wars, at the moment they control the largest, and most powerful army in all of Westeros.
> 
> And they HATE Tyrion & Bran.... so there is that :wink:


	12. CHAPTER XI: WE GUARD THE WAY

Corren of House Yronwood followed the sounds of soft moaning through the halls of his older brother’s bedchamber.

The twenty-year-old Prince hated it whenever his brother had ‘company’ if the women who visited him could even be called that. Corren never saw the draw of random sharing random beds, then again they were called whores after all. He supposed to some that to buy a woman’s warm embrace was the proper price against sleeping in a cold bed.

The moaning got louder as Corren neared the door that was to his brother’s inner bedchamber, and knocked on it twice. The moaning didn’t stop as Corren opened the door, the young man averting his eyes from the two figures on the bed.

“Ah, Brother,” his Older Brother, Harlik, said. “Care to join us?”

“I highly doubt that’ll be appropriate,” Corren said, looking out the window. “Mother and Father have summoned us to the throne room. We have a guest.”

“Fuck the guest,” Harlik retorted, turning back to the woman. “I’m not finished yet with my friend here….”

“Do you really think it’s wise to rose the ire of Mother?” Corren asked. “You know how she can be when she is angered…”

Both men and their siblings knew the wrath of their mother, whenever it was aroused. Their mother, Anera Dayne, was the beloved daughter of Edric Dayne, who was the son of the elder brother of the legendary Arthur Dayne. Edric grew into a warrior, just as his Uncle, and wielded the sword Dawn, which he then trained his youngest and favorite daughter to use. Although Anera had siblings of her own and was married into House Yronwood, she was the keeper of the mythical sword.

“You’re right,” Harlik said, pushing the woman off him. “I best get dressed…”

Corren waited for his brother to do as he said, and only turned around when he was sure when Harlik was clothed.

“Who is this guest?” Harlik asked, the two men hurrying down the halls.

“I do not know,” Corren replied with a shrug. “But they must be important enough, for our parents to call us down.”

Besides Harlik, Corren had three younger brothers and four younger sisters, with another sibling in the belly of his mother at the moment. Anera was a strong woman who demanded equally strong children, but Corren knew that even she had favorites.

The two men entered the throne room, Harlik stepped forward to bow before their father and then more.

Mortin Yronwood was a grizzled, yet powerful old man, who had fought for years to get where he was. House Yronwood ruled as high Kings of Dorne before Princess Nymeria arrived upon the shores, and after claiming a Martell as her first husband they quickly swallowed all of Dorne. House Yronwood was forced to bend the knee to House Martell for centuries, but when their House became extinct through their own arrogance and pride, it was only right for High Yronwood to step into the empty seat of power.

“Father,” Corren said, making his bow. “Mother.”

Mortin grunted in greeting, but Anera smiled at her favorite boy. Placing a hand on her belly she stood up and held out her other hand for Corren to kiss, which the young prince quickly did.

While most of his siblings had House Dayne-ish looks of dark hair, violet eyes, and fair skin; Corren looked like a proper member of House Yronwood. His hair was the color of molten gold, his skin tanned from all the time he spent reading in the gardens, but Corren had a distinct feature that set him apart from the rest of his family. His left eye was light blue, and his right was amber/green. None of his parents knew how this was possible, but it only endeared Corren to his mother more.

“My son,” Anera said, kissing Corren on the cheek. “I’m so happy that you came.”

“Why wouldn’t we come, Mother?” Harlik asked.

Anera’s purple eyes cut in his direction. “Because you’re not the fool, you appear to be.”

“Easy my love…” Mortin said, the only one besides Corren who could calm her. “The physician said that you can not get too excited… for the child’s sake.”

“Men, what do they know of women’s bodies,” Anera murmured, loud enough for only Corren to hear.

Corren tried to not smile. “Harlik is right, though, in his question. Why have we been summoned her? Is something wrong in the other Kingdoms?”

“You… could say that,” Mortin replied, nodding to the guards to bring in their guest.

The doors opened, and Corren turned to the sound of boots, clicking against the polished tile. A woman with closely cropped black hair, amber eyes, and scars upon her olive cheeks strode into the room. She was dressed in a black jacket over a dark-grey undershirt, and tight black trousers and boots.

“This is our guest,” Mortin said. “Who has something she wishes to discuss with us.”

The girls’ lips curved into a thin smile that scrapped Corren’s spine. “My name is Alarina Greyjoy, and I am here to make you an offer on behalf of House Targaryen.”

* * *

 

Jamie Lannister did not know what to do, now that he was heir to Casterly Rock. His Uncle ruled the Westerlands in all but name, hell, Jamie knew that his Uncle ruled all of Westeros in all but name.

Jamie should have left for Casterly Rock months ago, after all, Tyrion had given him the permission too. But Jamie couldn’t do it. He was born in King’s Landing, he was raised in King’s Landing; it just didn’t feel right to abruptly up and leave.

A sharp sting against the Young Noble’s hand brought him back into reality. He looked down at his hand, seeing a small sliver of blood run down his palm in which a small sword pressed against his skin. Jamie’s eyes traveled up the sword, seeing it in the hand of his twin sister who looked quite smug.

“You might as well turn around and present your ass to me,” Joanna said, using language in which a proper Noble Lady shouldn’t speak.

“What would Uncle say if he heard you talk like that?” Jamie teased.

Joanna rolled her eyes, tossing her head haughtily. “Mother would tell him to go sit his Imp ass down somewhere. Or I could do it myself.”

Jamie tossed his head back with laughter, knowing that their mother would indeed do something like that. Brienne of Tarth was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for a reason.

A flock of noble Ladies walked by, all of them eyeing Jamie with hungry eyes.

“You’d think that you were a stag, and then the lion,” Joanna scoffed.

As the heir of Casterly Rock, Jamie was the most prized match in all of Westeros. House Lannister was restarting, reforming their wealth and control of the Westerlands; and as the heir, Jamie had a legacy to hold into account. Jamie was in his 20th year and was more than old enough to have a wife and be fathering heirs of his own.

However, there was a problem: Jamie didn’t like any of the women that came his way. All of the Noble Ladies that were presented to him were either selfish, spoiled, or airheads. The only sensible woman in Westeros was his twin sister, and Jamie knew damn well he couldn’t marry her.

The Twins knew the story of their Father, how the first Jamie Lannister had three children with his own twin sister, only to die in her arms when the Mad Queen set King’s Landing ablaze. Everywhere Jamie and Joanna went there were eyes upon them, people watching if they carried the incestuous trait of their father.

The thought of marrying Joanna, or even sleeping with her, would make Jamie dry heave. He loved his sister, she was his best friend, he but didn’t love her that much. Besides, Joanna had sworn since she was a little girl that she’d never marry anyone.

“Have you gotten any more love letters from Robert?” Jamie said, knowing that it would strike Joanna’s ire.

Robert Baratheon was the eldest son, and heir of Gendry Baratheon, the Lord of Stormsend. Their Uncle had unofficially betrothed Joanna to the boy when they were children, but Joanna was firmly against the match. Robert was also in the lead running to become King Bran’s official heir, as the King could not produce children himself.

“He writes to me, constantly proclaiming his eternal love,” Joanna scoffed, lifting her sword and getting into a fighting stance. “But we all know the words mean nothing. How many bastards has he fathered?”

Jamie struck out with his sword. “I heard there was a third one… mothered by a kitchen wench.”

Joanna parried his strike. “And tell me again why I should marry a man who’s his grandsire in the flesh?”

“Because… it’ll cement allegiances,” Jamie replied, repeating what their Uncle told them. “And allegiances are important in times such as these.”

Joanna pressed forward, using his distracted nature to her advantage. Knocking Jamie’s sword from his hands, she placed her blade at his neck, her green eyes blazing as she looked into his.

“Just because I do not have a cock between my legs does not make me any less important than you,” she said. “A woman can be her own person, and I plan to prove it.

* * *

 

Harlik snorted at Alarina’s words, bursting out with laughter. “This is a joke, right?” he looked to his parents. “Surely she is jesting!”

“Silence, you fool,” Anera hissed at her eldest son, before turning back to Alarina. “Please, forgive him. Your Mother sent word ahead of your arrival. Please, continue.”

Alarina glared at Harlik but did not address him, instead, she turned to the other three. “I believe my mother, Yara Greyjoy, has been in contact with you to an extent about the current situation?”

Anera nodded. Although House Dayne’s overlord was House Martell—now House Yronwood—the House had an intimate relationship with House Targaryen over the last couple of generations. The latest Sword of the Morning—Arthur Dayne—was known as a close confidant to Rhaegar Targaryen. Arthur even served as the primary protector of the Tower of Joy, watching over a pregnant Lyanna Stark as she gave birth to her and Rhaegar’s son.

“Yes, that is true,” Anera said, sitting back on her throne. “But my husband and I want you to convince us to join this… what exactly is it that you want?”

“As I stated, I come on behalf of House Targaryen,” Alarina replied.

“Hose Targaryen is dead,” Harlik interrupted, earning an icy glare from his mother. “Their only true born member was murdered by her lover, who was also her nephew. At the same time, the man might be dead himself.”

“Wither Jon Snow is dead or alive is of little matter to the situation,” Alarina shot back. “Her Grace, Daenerys Targaryen is alive, and she lives in Meereen.”

“So, Queen Daenerys desires to conquer Westeros again?” Mortin scoffed. “Does she not remember what happen she brought an army of savages across the Narrow Sea?”

“It is not Queen Daenerys who makes a claim for the throne,” Alarina replied. “But her daughter.”

“She has birthed a bastard?” Mortin asked.

Alarina shook her head. “It was open knowledge that the Queen and Jon Snow were lovers. Did you not expect that such a union would bear fruit? Rhyaenna is her name, paying honor of Jon’s parents. I have seen her, gotten to know her. Rhyaenna as her mother’s charisma and beauty, but also her father’s humility and sense of honor.”

Mortin drummed his fingers on his throne slowly. “This sounds nice and all, but it does nothing to the fact that everyone knew that the Queen Daenerys died. How can the dying rise again? Is she a White Walker?”

“She was brought back to life by the followers of R’hllor, also known as Lord of Light,” Alarina retorted. “A heart surrounded by fire is his sigil, and the Targaryen’s believe themselves to be fire made flesh.”

“You speak of magic as if it’s real,” Harlik scoffed, laughing.

“We live in a world of dragons and white walkers,” Corren said to his mother, speaking for the first time during the whole meaning. “And according to my books, there is more out there that we do not know. So, it does seem possible that magic does exist.”

Anera hid her smile of pride, before turning back to Alarina. “Say that this girl is real, that she is who she says that claims. What is that you desire of us?”

“House Dayne has been an ally of House Targaryen for several generations,” Alarina replied. “And it only seems right that the friendship continues. House Greyjoy has already bent the knee to the House, and we humbly as that you do the same.”

“So, we have another Mad Queen who believes herself entitled to the throne of Westeros?” Mortin asked.

Alarina shook her head. “Rhyaenna does not believe herself entitled to anything. Rhyaenna knows that true kingdoms must be earned, not taken; although that does not mean there won’t be bloodshed. Unlike her mother, Rhyaenna is not coming at the head of a foreign army. She wants her army to be made of the people who live in the land, she wants it to be made of Westerosi.”

“And all she wants is our support and to bend the knee when she arrives?” Mortin asked.

Alarina knew better than to beat around the bush, and hoped that Rhyaenna wouldn’t kill when she found out what Alarina was going to say next. “Yes and no. While she hopes for you to bend the knee, she knows that the best way to seal allegiances is with marriage.”


	13. CHAPTER XII: BOLD AS A WOLF, FERICE AS A DRAGON

Braavos was greatly different than Meereen, Rhyaenna realized. The place was a lot busier, everyone seemed less formal and more flamboyant. It was the richest and most cultured of the Free Cities, so the Princess pegged it to that. Yet, she had to admit that it was quite beautiful in its own right.

“I need to be granted an audience with the Iron Bank,” Rhyaenna said to Vyreo’s Father, on her third day in Braavos.

Vyreo’s Father looked up, surprised. The Iron Bank received hundreds of petitions a day, and they were quite selective in whom they granted audiences with.

“I will see what I can do,” Vyreo’s Father replied. “However, I can not promise anything. I am the First Sword, but that title alone does not mean they will listen to me.”

“They will be happy, with what I have to say,” Rhyaenna said, knowing that without the backing o the Iron Bank then her whole conquest would be lost.

Vyreo’s Father nodded. “Then I shall try my best. At the same time, the Sealord’s feast will be happening any day now. If you desire more allies, then that is the best place to look. Courtiers and other Nobles will be there.”

“I’m supposed to be an open secret here,” Rhyaenna replied. “But but I do suppose it will seem rude for me to not go.”

Vyreo smirked from behind his goblet of wine. “Hopefully, with you on my arm, it will keep the Sealord’s daughter at bay.”

The days slowly ticked back, until the night of the Feast came. Vyreo dressed in his best suit made of dark blue silk and slicked back his hair with cedarwood-scented oil. His face was freshly shaven, although the young Braavosi lord wanted to grow a beard and mustache.

“Rhy?” he called from upstairs, pacing. “Are you ready?”

“I am,” Rhyaenna replied, appearing at the top of the stairs. “What do you think?”

Vyreo looked in her direction, his mouth agape as Rhyaenna slowly walked down the stairs.

The Meereenese Princess was dressed in a gown made of light-blue silk so thin that would have been see-through, if not for the short, white muslin dress that was under it. The muslin had diamonds and sapphires woven into the fabric, revealings designs of sea stars, water droplets, and sea flowers. The sleeveless gown showed off Rhyaenna’s smooth skin, wrapped around her breasts like a halter, yet fanned out behind her like a cape. The high splits on the side reached Rhyaenna’s waist, with the only thing preventing her intimate parts from being seen was the muslin underneath. As Rhyaenna walked the blue silk rippled over her like water, riving Vyreo a good look upon her lean, yet muscular thighs from hours of riding. Her black hair was done up in a thick, loose braid, with several smaller braids inserted into her, woven fresh sea flowers were Rhyaenna’s chosen hair accessories verses jewels.

“Well?” Rhyaenna asked, turning slowly for Vyreo to look at her. “What do you think?”

“I’m thinking of finding a dark corner…” Vyreo said, his eyes reflecting a fierce hunger for her.

He hadn’t been in her bed for months since they had left Meereen. Rhyaenna was easily seasick from the boat ride, and thus it failed to put either of them in the mood for sensual pleasures. When they arrived in Braavos, the wife of Vyreo’s Brother took Rhyaenna out to explore the city; so, there wasn’t time for them to enjoy each other’s company even then.

“As much as I’d love that, we don’t have time,” Rhyaenna replied, chuckling softly. “And remember, I’m not Rhy.”

“I know… I know…” Vyreos said, wrapping his arms slowly around her waist. “You, are Lady Siranea Paenos. The daughter of a wealthy merchant from Pentos.”

“That’s right,” Rhyaenna said, pressing against him. “And if this party goes well… I’ll show you my hidden treasures.”

Vyreo smirked. “Then I’ll pray to all the gods that it goes well then… Come on, the palanquin is waiting for us.”

* * *

 

An elaborate palanquin was waiting to take them to the Sealord’s Palace, and it was quite the sight to behold.

The Palace dwarfed anything in the city, it looked like a miniature city itself, with rivers and canals, in which barges moved up and down. When Rhyaenna and Vyreo excited their palanquin, they got onto a barge, which swiftly began to row up the primary river. A line of barges was moving toward the front of the palace, each one more beautiful than the next.

“It is customary to give the Sealord a gift,” Vyreo said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Rhyaenna’s ear. “And thanks to my Father, I am sure I have the best gift he will ever receive.”

Vyreo took out a large box that Rhyaenna did not know that he had. When he opened it, it revealed a large pink pearl the size of a chicken’s egg, sitting upon a bed of blue satin.

“It’s amazing…” Rhyaenna breathed, unable to believe such an item existed.

“It was found off the coast of Pentos,” Vyreo said proudly, closing the box. “It’s my father’s gift and oath of loyalty to the Sealord.”

Rhyaenna inclined her head. “Speaking of this Sealord… you said that he has a daughter, that he wants you to marry…?”

Vyreo chuckled. “I’ve told you, she means nothing to me. You are the only woman that I want, and the only woman that I desire.”

Rhyaenna looked at him, unable to forgo what she needed to say. “But Vyreo… If I am to take Westeros, I am going to have to make allegiances. Marriage allegiances.”

Vyreo frowned. He wouldn’t deny that the thought of another man sharing her bed infuriated him, but a part of him knew that this was a price he might pay.

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it,” Vyreo said. “Until then, let us just enjoy the Feast.”

Their barge came to a stop in front of the palace and a servant held out their hand for Rhyaenna to take. The Princess grasped it, carefully stepped out onto the stone. Vyreo was at her side in a moment, offering her his arm as he leads her into the massive palace.

Music filled the halls, as did singing, dancing, and the mouth-watering aroma of fresh food being cooked. Men and women milled out in brightly colored outfits, newly dyed hair done up in bizarre styles. It reminded Rhyaenna of one of the many festivals that came through Meereen, promoting exotic dancers and animals from the furthest reaches of the world.

“The Sealord, he knows about me?”  Rhyaenna whispered to Vyreo.

“I do not know,” Vyreo replied, accepting an offered glass of wine from a servant. “Then again, this man is known to be quite crafty. So, I’d be careful with what I say to him.”

“What should I do then?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Be yourself of course,” Vyreo answered. “But at the same time guard your tongue. We do not know if the people here friend or foe is, and I will not risk your safety.”

Rhyaenna nodded, pulling away from Vyreo so that she could explore the room.

There were dancers and singers from all other the world, jugglers and acrobats performing tricks and routines that Rhyaenna had never seen before. They mimicked events in history, telling stories from lands across many of the seas. Rhyaenna wondered if they knew any historical events from Westeros, most likely not.

“Enjoying yourself?” a deep voice said at her side.

Rhyaenna turned and found herself face-to-face with a tall, yet plump man who looked about the same age as her mother. His hair was graying, yet there was a fire that burned in his eyes that told Rhyaenna he was very much aware of all that went around him. He was dressed casually, in dark-grey silk, his gray hair not at all done up in the ridiculous styles as the other nobles.

“Yes,” she said, smiling and being polite. “Forgive me, for not speaking.”

“You have done nothing wrong, my dear,” the Man said. “But forgive me, as I did not catch your name.”

“Siraena Paenos,” Rhyaenna said quickly, giving a small curtsy. “I am from Pentos.”

The Man looked her up and down, before leaning forward with a wicked smile. “Come now dear, tell me your real name…”

Rhyaenna blinked. “B-But that is my real name.”

The Man tossed back his head, laughing. “Your Grace, you might be able to fool others, but you can not fool me. I know who you are, Daughter of the Dragon Queen.”

Rhyaenna bit her bottom lip. “How… How did you?”

“You do not get to be my age, without knowing a couple of things,” The Man replied. “You learn to see through the lies of others.”

Rhyaenna frowned, giving the man another look before her eyes widened. “You… You are the Sealord?”

“In the flesh,” the Sealord said, nodding to a man behind him.

There stood a richly dressed man in a glittering crown and dripping with jewels. He had a gaggle of Handmaids and Manservants surrounding him, filling his goblet constantly with wine.

“That’s… That’s not the Sealord?” Rhyaenna asked, following his gaze.

The Sealord shook his head. “Think of him as my guard. It’s easy for me to be assassinated, during times such as this, so I employ a man who looks like me to pretend to be me. It also allows me to talk among my people and learn from them.”

“So, how did you know about me?” Rhyaenna asked, curious about how he could see through her deception so quickly.

“My First Sword is the father to the man that brought you tonight,” The Sealord said, leading Rhyaenna in a casual stroll, walking through the halls and into the gardens. “I make it a duty of mine to know where my First Sword is, at all times. So, tell me, Daughter of the Dragon Queen, what brings you to Braavos?”

“I have come to ask to meet with the Iron Bank,” Rhyaenna replied, knowing it was better than to lie to the man, yet at the same time she selected her words carefully.

“Is Meereen in debt?” The Sealord asked.

“Of course not, My Lord,” Rhyaenna said. “But rather, I desire to form a… allegiance with them, as of late.”

The Sealord nodded slowly. “The best trait in a ruler, Princess, is not one who strikes fear in the hearts of their subjects, but rather one who stirs unshakable loyalty.”

“But kingdoms all have traitors,” Rhyaenna replied. “And those traitors must be dealt with, right?”

“Of course they must,” the Sealord said, nodding. “But it’s how one deals with traitors that put them into two categories: a Just Ruler, or a Tyrant. What ruler do you desire to be?”

“Just of course.”

“Then be Just. A Just Ruler knows when they should execute someone, or show them mercy. If you put all to the sword who defied you, then your subjects would fear you, and desire to revolt. But if you show mercy then your subjects will have hope, in which they know if they crossed you then you would act kindly upon them.”

“But then that means I’ll be letting them walk all over me,” Rhyaenna pointed out.

The Sealord shook his head. “Not necessarily. By showing that you are Just, you show that you understand the people. Take this for example: in many laws of the land if someone is caught stealing then they must have that hand removed. Yet, most of the time, people are stealing food or even a couple of coins to buy food for themselves or family. What would you do, to remedy this?”

Rhyaenna stopped to think, trying to remember the lessons her mother taught her. In Meereen, the lines between rich and poor had become less wide after Daenerys had begun giving out free bread, salted meat and watered wine to the poor for them to not go hungry. When people weren’t hungry they felt the urge to work, and thus make a better life for themselves.

“I would… create a system for everyone, no matter their class gets free bread every day,” Rhyaenna replied.

“But that will cost money,” The Sealord pointed out. “And your money comes from taxes, correct? How would you raise that money?”

“I would… raise the taxes on the Nobles.”

The Sealord nodded, pressing her. “But the Nobles wouldn’t like that. You’d be taking money from them to give to the poor, a class of which many Nobles do not care for.”

“Then I shall start small,” Rhyaenna replied. “I would find a Noble House, with loyalty to me, to test my theory. I will raise their taxes only by a couple of percent’s, in which most of the money would go to paying for bread and maybe even salted meat. When the poor have full bellies then they will go to work, and thus makes more money for their Overlords.”

The Sealord nodded again, impressed by her logic. “That is a good start. Always start small, as too much change at one time can stir discord throughout your kingdom. You need the support of both the Nobles and the smallfolk to keep peace within your land.”

Rhyaenna nodded. “Thank you, My Lord, for your advice.”

“Another piece of advice is to always stay humble,” the Sealord said. “Know how to balance revealing your wealth and slender, while also showing the smallfolk that you are not afraid to get down in the dirt with them. You serve them, as well as the silken Nobles.”

With that he departed, walking casually deeper into the gardens.

Rhyaenna didn’t see Vyreo for some time during the feast, but she knew that he couldn’t have been far. She figured that he must have been busy or handling affairs of his father, so she just enjoyed herself. However, as Rhyaenna passed what she thought was an empty room, a hand reached out and grabbed her; yanking her inside.

She reacted instantly, remembering her warrior training.

As the hand pulled her into the room, Rhyaenna grabbed for the dagger she had strapped to her thigh. Yet, before she could strike, Rhyaenna realized that the room wasn’t dark, but rather lit by candlelight. The face staring at her was that of Vyreo, who was trying his hardest to not laugh.

“Vyreo!” Rhyaenna snapped, playfully smacking him. “One of these days I’m going to stab you, and then you’ll learn not to do this again!”

Vyreo leaned forward, pressing his lips to her neck, the action instantly softening Rhyaenna. “I’m sorry, My Love. But it’s so easy to scare you…”

“As I said, it’s going to take me stabbing you once, before you learn your lesson,” Rhyaenna sighed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “But… I can think of a way to make it up to me…”

* * *

 

Vyreo reached between Rhyaenna’s thighs, sliding his hand up her legs before meeting her core. His thumb rubbed at her pearl, a smirk curving his lips as Vyreo listened to sound of Rhyaenna’s deep moans.

“How… How long can we be missing?” Rhyaenna asked, breathless, her head spinning from his clever fingers.

“There are hundreds of people here,” Vyreo said, pulling his hands away briefly.

Rhyaenna watched, her lips pouting in disappointment as he moved away from her. Vyreo walked to the door and locked it, then, for added security put a chair under it, just. Gossip was the main currency in Braavos, as well as the iron coins were given out by the iron bank.

He swept Rhyaenna into his arms, brushing looks locks of hair as the Princess pressed her lips to his with a soft sigh. There wasn’t a bed in this office space, but there was a desk so it would have to do.

“You rode me last time we were together,” Vyreo said, laying Rhyaenna upon the desk. “Now it’s my turn…”

Rhyaenna’s violet eyes looked at him hungrily, watching as her lover unbuckled his belt, working to free himself from his trousers. As Vyreo did that, Rhyaenna pulled up her dress as best she could, thanking the gods for the high splits.

Vyreo was in front of her moments later, his thumb going back to work to stroke at her pearl. He wanted to warm her up, to get her dripping, as his lover was already more than willing. Once he was satisfied, Vyreo lifted one of Rhyaenna’s thighs and draped it over his shoulder, kissing the warm flesh before grasping himself.

Playfully, he began to smack at her center with his member, Vyreo watching with pride as Rhyaenna’s face contorted with pleasure.

“I don’t care if you have to marry a fucking king,” the Braavosi Noble said, slowly pushing into her body. “I was your first… and I’ll be damned if I’m ever separated from you…”

Rhyaenna ‘s back arched off the desk as he entered her, her eyes rolling back as she groaned. “Yes…”

Smirking, Vyreo began to move, although slowly at first. He continued to lay butterfly kisses upon her calf and thighs, all the while watching his lover. Vyreo meant what he said, he loved Rhyaenna, and felt great pride in knowing that he was her first; and she was his. He would kill her would-be husband with his bare hands before the man thought he could keep her to himself.

“Vyreo…” Rhyaenna groaned, her body moving with his place. “Come… Come here…”

Vyreo lowered her leg and bent down, pressing his lips to hers as he moved his hips slowly, yet deeply. Rhyaenna gripped his back, her tongue wrapping around his own as they kissed intimately. She knew that sooner or later she was doing to have to marry to secure the loyalty of a powerful House in Westeros, but right now none of that mattered.

All Rhyaenna wanted to hear, to touch, to taste, to feel, was Vyreo, and Vyreo alone.

Vyreo moved his hands to her waist, pulling Rhyaenna a little bit further down the desk to get into a better position. His pace began to increase, perspiration beading on his brow as his hips pushed deeper and deeper; moving faster and faster.

Rhyaenna’s moans began to melt into soft, breathy cries of pleasure, her hands sliding down to grip his rear to urge him deeper. The only thing that mattered in the world, then and there, was them; and them alone.

The air filled with the sound of wet slapping of skin, his grunts, her soft cries, and the creak of the table. Such was their erotic movement. Having not been able to touch her for months, Vyreo wasn’t going to stop until both of them came. His fingers dug into her waist, Vyreo’s eyes fixated upon the face of the girl he had loved since he was a little boy.

“V-Vyreo…” Rhyaenna panted, feeling her inner damn beginning to build. “I have… I have to come…”

Vyreo didn’t respond and instead reached down with one of his hands to rub her pearl. This increased her pleasure, he knew, and the way Vyreo felt her inner walls tighten around him, the Noble could tell that she was very close. But this only drove him on, Vyreo pushing deeper and deeper into her body until Rhyaenna couldn’t take it.

The Princess’s head tossed back with a cry, her inner walls pulling Vyreo deep within her as she came. Her nails dug so deeply into Vyreo’s rear that red marks formed, but the pain was nothing compared to the pleasure that Vyreo self. With a deep groan, he poured into her, slumping against his lover as he expelled his seed.

For a moment, that single moment, they weren’t the Son of the First Sword or the Daughter of the Dragon Queen. They were just Rhyaenna and Vyreo, lovers who would do anything for each other. If Rhyaenna was not taking that herb then perhaps this moment, this tender and the heated moment would have made a child; but Vyreo knew that now was not the time. Both knew that they weren’t ready for a child to come.

Vyreo nuzzled Rhyaenna’s neck, smoothing sweat-soaked hair from his lover’s face. “I love you, Rhyaenna Targaryen, and I will never let you go.”

* * *

 

They stayed in that room for another two hours, happy to be with each other again, but eventually, they knew that they had to leave.

Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed they were missing, and they hurried to their barge to return to Vyro’s home.

The following morning though, a letter was delivered to Vyreo’s Family Estate, the stamp of which revealed the sigil of the Iron Bank.

Vyreo looked over Rhyaenna’s shoulder as the Princess broke the seal, reading along with her. It was an invitation to place her petition before the Iron Bank, and she was to be given exclusive treatment. Rather than meet with a minor Representative of the Bank in the outer rooms, Rhyaenna was to be taken to the inner chambers and meet with the Leaders themselves.

“How… How is this possible?” Rhyaenna asked, looking to Vyreo’s Father.

The First Sword shook his head. “It was not me, My Lady. I just was sent word that my letter had been received. After that, it normally takes three months to hear back if you’ve been approved or denied an audience.”

“Could it be a trick?”

Vyreo shook his head. “That is the official sigil of the Iron Bank. For you to get this letter… I just don’t know who made this happen…”

Rhyaenna knew, in the back of her mind she knew instantly who had done this. The Sealord. Something that she had done or said to the man had made him push forward with her request. The letter was even addressed to her alias, not her official name.

“I need to arrive at a future Queen might,” Rhyaenna said firmly, taking the letter back. “And that means dressing the part.”

“Are you sure about that, Rhy?” Vyreo asked. “You would be vulnerable, as no one is allowed to carry weapons in the Bank unless you work there.”

“All the more reason for me to do it then,” Rhyaenna said. “I am going there to form a partnership with the Bank, and that means establishing trust.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> So I normally don't put personal chapter notes at the end of my chapters, but I have some BIG news for you! After looking at my plot, I am excited to say that, after this chapter, we are about 6 chapters from Rhy setting sail for Westeros! Several of you have been asking when she's heading out, and I'm happy to say it'll be soon! At the same time, the book itself is about 60 CHAPTERS LONG!! 
> 
> Yeah.... lol. So from chapter 20 onward, we will be in Westeros for the rest of the book, which is about 40 chapters. Can't wait for Westeros to meet our Little Queen!
> 
> Also more steamy sections in-coming!


	14. CHAPTER XIII: DAWN OF THE SWORD OF THE MORNING

“Marriage?” Harlik repeated. “You’ve come here to propose marriage to us for this… Princess Rhyaenna?”

“To an extent,” Alarina replied. “I am just the messenger, after all, it is the Princess who holds the true power.”

“Why us?” Mortin asked. “Why my House?”

“It is as I stated before,” Alarina replied. “Both House Yronwood and House Dayne have served as loyal vassals to House Targaryen. Arthur Dayne was the closest friend and confidant to Prince Rhaegar. Now his granddaughter wishes to return home, and claim that is hers by right.”

“With Fire and Blood, I assume?” Harlik asked, dryly.

“If it comes to that,” Alarina replied. “But raining down fire and blood is not Rhyaenna’s way, that I can assure you.”

“Why not go to other Great House’s?” Anera asked. “I’m sure they have sons who would leap at this chance.”

“But only a handful of House’s can be trusted with this great secret,” Alarina replied. “Rhyaenna is not ready yet, to sail for Westeros. She does not want to repeat the mistake made by her mother, bringing an army of outsiders to our shores. Rhyaenna wants to rule Westeros, and her army will be made of Westeros.”

“We have the largest land army, that’s why you need us,” Corren blurted out, speaking for the first time in this meeting.

Mortin looked at his younger son with a frown, but Anera beamed and nodded for Corren to continue.

Corren struggled to swallow the lump in his throat but seized the courage that his mother radiated. “Dorne stayed out of the War of the Five Kings,” he continued. “And after the… death, of House Martell, we seized the Sun Throne. All the other Great House’s have lost the majority of their armies with the non-stop wars, and only now have relished their forces. House Yronwood’s numbers instead had flourished.”

“Correct, my Son,” Anera said, giving Corren a small wink before turning back to Alarina. “My son speaks the truth. The War of the Five Kings slaughtered almost a fourth the soldier population in upper Westeros. After that, the small… skirmishes between the remaining House’s killed another two-fourths, leading only one forth remaining. Since Dorne stayed mainly out of the wars, our numbers have flourished too… how many men do we have, My Love?”

“Forty-thousand,” Motrin replied.

“Correct,” Anera said. “Forty-thousand men, at our beck and call.” She leaned forward on her throne. “Tell me, Daughter of the Kraken Queen, is your Princess worth forty-thousand men?”

Alarina smirked softly, looking the Daynish Lady in her violet eyes. “My Lady, a Dragon’s value is limitless.”

Anera couldn’t stop her own smirk, that curved her lips at Alarina’s reply. It was a good answer, a very good answer. If this Rhyaenna was a thing like her vassal, then she would prove to be a worthy queen indeed. Anera knew, in that instant, that she would agree to support this girl; and she knew that Mortin would agree with anything that she wanted. But the matter of marriage weighed heavy on her.

Only Harlik and Corren were of age to marry, but which one would she choose?

Anera didn’t even have to think on it, as her violet eyes slid to rest upon the back of Corren’s head. Yes, it would have to be him. Corren was the younger son, but only he would be right for this job.

Harlik was a fool, who only loved to drink, whore, and pick fights with lesser nobles. The husband of this Rhyaenna Targaryen was going to become King Consort of all Westeros. He was going to have to be wise, thoughtful, and good-natured. Harlik was neither of those things. Anera had the feeling that this Rhyaenna would soon cut off her husbands’ ‘baby maker’, then let him sleep with another woman. Harlik was too stupid to be trusted with this allegiance. It had to be Corren.

“I will discuss with my Lord Husband on our choice in this matter,” Anera said aloud. “But you will have it by the end of the week.”

Alarina nodded and bowed, backing out of the room.

* * *

 

“I suppose I should pack then,” Harlik said when Alarina was gone.

Anera arched an eyebrow. “Why on earth would you believe that?”

“Because I will be the one going, of course,” Harlik replied. “We are agreeing to this, are we not.”

“I will discuss things with your Mother before anything is settled,” Mortin replied, holding out his arm for Anera to take.

“I need to lay down, my Love,” Anera said, kissing her husband cheek. “Your next child is weighing heavily upon my belly. Corren, walk me to my chambers.”

Mortin nodded and kissed his wife on the lips before Corren held out his arm to his mother. The two walked in silence, but when they entered the chamber that Anera shared with her husband, she saved the servant girls out of the room.

“I wish to speak to my son alone,” she told the Girls.

The young woman bowed, hurrying out of the room as Anera walked to sit in front of her vanity.

“I hope that Harlik makes a good king,” Corren said. “Hopefully, this Dragon Princess can tame him.”

“Do not waste your prayers on that, my Son,” Anera said, looking through the drawers of her vanity. “Because this time tomorrow, you are going to be on a ship to Meereen.”

Corren’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Mother, what are you talking about?”

“It is going to be you my son, not Harlik, to marry the Princess and secure the allegiance with House Targaryen,” Anera replied.

Blood roared in Corren’s ears at her words. “B-B-But… I’m the younger son.”

“All the better reason,” Anera said, finally finding what she was looking for.

Anera took out a small packet of dried herbs and extended it to her son. “Take this.”

Corren didn’t move from where he stood. “What is it?”

“Herbs that’ll put your brother asleep long enough for you to get on that ship to Meereen,” Anera replied. “Don’t worry, it won’t kill him.”

“M-Mother… What are you talking about?” Corren stammered. “Harlik is the one going to marry the Princess, right?”

Anera rolled her eyes, sighing softly as she put the herbs aside. She held out her hands for Corren, which her son took, and knelt before her.

“Corren,” Anera said slowly. “I need you to listen to me, my son. You and I both know that Harlik would make a terrible husband and consort to Rhyaenna Targaryen. He spends his time drinking and whoring. If this girl takes the throne, she will need stable ground to plant her rule, not rocky from the birth of multiple bastards that would threaten the heirs of her body.”

Corren flinched at his mother’s brash words, but some part of him believed her. Harlik had already fathered two bastard children by two different servant girls in the castle, and rumor was that three more carried his seed.

“But she will also need a warrior at her side,” Corren pointed out. “And books are my weapon of choice, not swords.”

“You have taken enough sword lessons to make you a competent swordsman,” Anera said bluntly. “But you can always learn how to better your skills. This Rhyaenna is the daughter of Jon Snow, as well as a direct descendant of Aegon the Conqueror and his warrior queens. If her mother is the type of woman I believe she is, then she would have placed a sword into her daughter’s hands the moment she could walk. This girl will be no wilting flower, like the other Noble Ladies of Westeros are. So, you will need to impress her with something other than your brute strength.”

Corren frowned, thinking over his mother’s words. Harlik was the warrior in the family, his eldest brother dual-wielded twin swords while Corren himself struggled with a single sword. His talents weren’t in the jousting rings, but in the library where Corren devoured books from all over the world, drew pictures, and learned how to play multiple instruments. Corren’s favorite instrument was the harp, and the young Lord even possessed a special one made from silver strings, violet-colored metal, and wood that changed color depending on what position it was looked at.

Those were Corren’s strength, not the sword.

“I’m nothing like Harlik,” Corren said to his mother.

“And that is why you will make a good King Consort, my Son,” Anera said, cupping his cheek. “You possess everything that your brother does not. This girl is a Daughter of Dragons and Wolves, she needs a sweet lamb as you at her side to calm her, and check her worst tendencies.”

“But… But I do not know her, or love her,” Corren interrupted, desperate. “And I can not marry someone whom I do not love.”

Anera sighed. “I did not know your father either when we were wed. In fact, we didn’t even share a bed on our wedding night. I was a maid for two more years before I called your father to my bed for the first time. During those two years, he had slowly begun to win me over, and great number of you and your siblings is a proclamation to our love.” She cupped his cheek. “He could have been a brash and terrible husband, who forced himself upon me, but he didn’t. As a Noble, it is rare for our marriages to be for love, but that doesn’t mean we cannot create it.”

Corren was silent as he listened to his mother. He did not know this Rhyaenna Targaryen, nor did he know anything about her. Corren had read the books about the various Targaryen Rulers over the last three centuries. Their family history was controversial, to say the least, with only a handful of good kings during their long reign. It was King Daeron II who married his sister, Daenerys, to the reigning Prince of Dorne, while Daeron took the Prince’s sister as his own wife. That marriage brought peace to Westeros, a peace that was severally needed now.

Although Harlik was the heir and Corren the spar, Corren was the only one of the brothers who paid any attention whenever messengers were brought to their father by King Bran the Broken.

King Bran—although everyone knew that it was his Hand who really ruled the Kingdom—needed men, as the political climate in Westeros was in turmoil. No one feared Bran the Broke, nor did anyone really love him. Many House’s grumbled against the North Secession and desired their own independence, and there were always rumblings of war. Without heirs of his own body, Bran’s position as King of Westeros was on thin ice.

“If I marry this Rhyaenna… that means I have to sleep with her…” Corren whispered.

“Yes, it does,” Anera said, nodding. “You will need to give her heirs of course.”

Heat bloomed in Corren’s cheeks, in talking about such things with his mother. Unlike Harlik, Corren was a virgin, as he wanted his first time to be with his wife and the love of his life. The thought of sleeping with someone, with the bloodline of Rhyaenna, terrified the young Dornish Lord.

“Corren,” Anera said, looking into his eyes. “I would not ask this of you if I did not believe you were not the right one of my sons to do this. You have gifts that Harlik could only dream of, but know that you’re not just a member of House Yronwood, but also of House Dayne.”

Letting go of her son, Anera walked to a special case and opened it, taking out the scabbard and sword that lay inside. Turning back to her son, Anera walked to him and held it out for Corren to take.

When Corren pulled the greatsword from its scabbard he was blinded, as the blade reflected the candlelight that was within the room. The blade was as pale as milkglass, the handle made from rich leather, and the pommel engraved with the sigil of House Dayne.

“Dawn…” Corren whispered in awe.

“My father taught me how to wield this weapon since I was a child, and I used it to help my husband conquer all of Dorne,” Anera said, reminding her son her own martial prowess. “But as a woman, I can not become the Sword of the Morning. But that does not mean… one of my sons cannot wield in my place.”

Corren shook his head quickly, realizing what his mother was suggesting. “Harlik is the rightful owner of the sword then… as the eldest.”

“The sword does not pass down from father to son,” Anera corrected him. “But rather to those deemed worthy. My Father knew my worth, and I know yours. Take Dawn, lay it at the feet of this Rhyaenna, and swear to her the fealty of House Dayne, House Yronwood and all of Dorne. I believe in you Corren, now you just need too.”

* * *

 

Corren laid Dawn against his bed, then looked at the package of herbs that his mother had given him.

‘This is crazy…’ he thought, pacing his room. ‘Insane! I can’t go to Meereen! I can’t marry a woman that I haven’t met before, or might never love! I can’t do this!’

Stuffing the herbs in his pocket, Corren decided to head to the one place he knew he could find peace. The library. There, surrounded by books and learning, Corren could be himself. However, when he entered the library, he was met by a surprising sight. Harlik was there, between the thighs of a female servant who laid on top of one of the various desks.

“Harlik, what the hell are you doing?” Corren demanded his face flushing red at the sight of his brother defiling his sacred place.

“Just having some fun Little Brother,” Harlik answered. “Did you want a turn, I’m pretty sure the Lovely… what’s your name again, my Dear?”

“Hanna, my Lord,” the Servant Girl giggled.

“Yes, the Lovely Hanna, wouldn’t mind taking you as well. Best you lose that virginity sooner or later,” Harlik teased.

“Brother, there is a time and place for your… activities, and is this the best time to do it?” Corren asked. “What would Princess Rhyaenna think?”

Harlik shrugged. “She’s not here. And when we marry, she will learn to shut her eyes and accept it. I’ll be the King of Westeros.”

“You’ll be King Consort,” Corren corrected him. “You’ll only have the amount of power that she gives you.”

“Then I’ll make sure that I constantly keep her with child then,” Harlik retorted, pulling away from Hanna. “Women are simple creatures, Little Brother. All you have to do is dangle a pretty necklace in front of them, or give them a wild night in bed, and they will do whatever that you want. When her belly is heavy with my child, I’ll be the one running Westeros. If she dies in childbirth, who do you think will be appointed Regent.”

Corren pulled away from his brother in horror. He couldn’t believe that Harlik would say such things about someone who he was supposed to marry. Their mother had taught them that women were supposed to be respected and cherished, not used and abused. It appeared that Harlik did not share that belief.

“She’s a Princess,” Corren said, trying to hold back his temple.

“She’s a cunt that I must use to father heirs,” Harlik retorted, rolling his eyes as he turned back to Hanna. “After that, she’s of no use to me.”

Corren’s body was trembling, blood roared in his ears as the sound of Hanna’s moans began to fill the room. A jug and goblet of wine sat on a nearby table, and without knowing what he was doing, Corren walked over to it. He looked over his shoulder at Harlik, who was too distracted with Hanna, before turning back to the wine. Taking out the herb packet, Corren ripped it open and poured the contents into the jug, stirring it until everything dissolved.

“Want some wine, Brother?” Corren asked, pouring a goblet and extending his hand to Harlik.

Harlik took the goblet and gulped it down swiftly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you, Brother,” Harlik said, grinning. “Keep this up, and I’ll make you my Royal Cupbearer.”

“Of course, Brother,” Corren said, leaving the library. “Of course…”

Hurrying back to his room, Corren packed a small back with only the items he knew that he needed most. Putting his harp into its case, he strapped Dawn onto his back and ran to the docks where he found Alarina’s ship, easy to locate because of its size.

“What are you doing here?” Alarina demanded as she had been cleaning the desk.

“You need a Dornish Prince to marry your Princess Rhyaenna, right?” Corren asked. “You have one.”

Alarina arched an eyebrow, looking him up and down. “No offense. But I was honestly expecting your brother.”

“My brother is not fit to marry your Princess,” Corren said.

“And you are?” Alarina asked, looking him up and down again. “You don’t look like a warrior.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Corren said. “I can barely swing a sword, and I am not quick on my feet. But what I lack in brawn I make up in brains, as I have spent countless hours in the third-largest library in all of Westeros. Your Princess is going to need someone who knows Westeros, who knows of the different House’s, of their allegiances and their enemies. My brother was trained to master the sword, I was trained to master politics.”

Corren held his breath as Alarina looked him up and down, one more time. She said nothing for about a good five minutes before she sighed, nodding.

“Alright, go below deck and claim a bucker. After we drop you off at Meereen, I’m traveling back to Westeros,” Alarina said. “I have House Velaryon of Driftmark and House Celtigar of Claw Isle to visit.”

“Both Houses have around five-thousand men each,” Corren said, almost automatically. “They have been loyal to House Targaryen for centuries and stayed out of many of the previous wars for the throne. It’s a smart move to include them in this plan. As by securing their allegiance, you secure all of Blackwater Bay and a good portion of the Crownlands.”

Alarina nodded, his words surprising even her. She knew that both House’s had ancient ties to House Targaryen, but she didn’t think about securing Blackwater Bay and the Crownlands. Perhaps this boy would be of use to Rhyaenna after all.


	15. CHAPTER XIV: AGREEMENTS AS BINDING AS IRON

The building that housed the Iron Bank was one that had to be built for a king. Then again, the Iron Bank funded kings all over the world, so it made sense that they would be housed in a building that would be the envy of kings.

A palanquin, sent from the Iron Bank themselves, had arrived at Vyreo’s home early that morning; ready to take Rhyaenna to her meeting. Rhyaenna had dressed in Targaryen red, but her gown was cut in the Braavosi fashion of being loose, yet sensual. There was a golden cage-like corset that sat under her breasts, and long cloth that wrapped around her arms that doubled as faux-sleeves. She wore thick gold bracelets and necklaces, with black satin slippers encrusted with gold and rubies.

Rhyaenna normally despised getting dressed up like this, but there was a reason why she was wearing her best clothes.

She had come to Braavos to make an agreement with the Iron Bank, and if there was one thing that the Iron Bank understood it was money. Rhyaenna had to walk into the Iron Bank a Queen, she had to prove to them that she was worthy of their investment.

Vyreo was to accompany her along with several other guards, the Braaovsi Noble dressed in light armor under his own elaborate robes, a heavy sword at his side. He was the son of the First Sword of Braavos, and he needed to portray it.

It wasn’t a long ride in the palanquin, and Rhyaenna was silent the whole ride. Her mind was on other things, and she needed to focus.

‘I am the Blood of the Dragon,’ Rhyaenna thought to herself, as a servant who worked in the Iron Bank opened the door to the palanquin. ‘I am the Dragon’s Daughter.’

The Servant leads Rhyaenna and the party that accompanied her into the Bank, Rhyaenna looking over the various people going in and out of it. Marble polished so brightly that Rhyaenna could see her face was on the floor, and she forced herself to not stare at it. She was here on business, and couldn’t be childishly entertained by the floor. Yet, she couldn’t help but imagine the fun in sliding on the wet floors, as she and her mother did in Meereen.

“Please do not address the Lords of the Bank without being addressed yourself,” the Servant said, starling Rhyaenna from her thoughts. “Do not waste their time with false compliments. Here, in the Bank, make sure to cut right to the point and be blunt.”

Rhyaenna said nothing but gave the Servant a small nod.

The Princess was led to a large office, where a long desk sat in the middle with three high-backed chairs behind it. The open windows gave a breath-taking view of Westeros, but Rhyaenna didn’t have time to stare; she had to stay focused.

The Servant bowed and backed away, leaving Rhyaenna and her party alone in the room.

Rhyaenna glanced to Vyreo, who took a step forward but quickly moved away when doors behind the three chairs opened. Three men, whom Rhyaenna figured were the Lords of the Bank, entered the room and took their seats in their chairs. When they did so, Rhyaenna realized that no such seat had been offered to her. Once again she glanced to Vyreo, who arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Will you not offer a chair to your guest?” Rhyaenna asked, breaking the first rule to only address the Lords of the Bank whenever they addressed her first.

One of the Bank Lords arched an eyebrow. “Our business meetings do not last long,” he said. “But if you are so tired, a stool could be brought, perhaps.”

The two other Lords of the Bank chuckled, and Rhyaenna knew an insult when she heard one. By offering her a stool, it would put her lower than them, and in theory, make her seem as inferior.

This could not stand. Rhyaenna was descended from kings and queen, she possessed the Blood of the Dragon; she wouldn’t be seen an inferior to money lenders.

Instead of answering them, Rhyaenna walked to Vyreo and whispered in his ear. Her lover listened, nodded, and then turned to his men; giving one of them a small signal. The man then walked to the center of the room and knelt, forming his body in a sort of ‘chair’. Once he was in the position, Rhyaenna walked to the man and sat on his back, crossing her legs as she straightened her spine.

“Now, we can begin our meeting.”

* * *

 

The Lords of the Bank looked at each other, caught by surprise, but then turned back to the girl in front of him.

“Welcome to the Iron Bank,” the First Bank Lord said, forcing a smile on his face.

“The honor is mine,” Rhyaenna said. “I have heard much of the majesty and power of the Iron Bank. I knew that I had to experience it myself.”

“We hope that we are up to your… high standards,” the Second Bank Lord said.

“As of the moment you are,” Rhyaenna replied, deciding to follow through with the next rule. “I’m sure you already know who I am, but if you do not, allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Rhyaenna Targaryen, daughter and heir of Queen Daenerys Targaryen of Meereen and her partner, Aegon Targaryen, the King of the North.”

“Queen Daenerys Targaryen is dead,” the First Bank Lord replied. “She was killed by her Lover. She was last seen being carried by her dragon to parts unknown.”

“My mother is alive, and ruling her reclaimed kingdom of Slaver’s Bay,” Rhyaenna retorted. “Although now, is it called the Bay of Dragons. It is true that my father killed her, but she was brought back by the Red Priests in Volantis, and then traveled back to Meereen where she gave birth to me.”

“If it were true, that Queen Daenerys was alive, what proof could you offer us?” the Second Bank Lord asked.

“I doubt that you would want your building to be destroyed by my dragon,” Rhyaenna said smugly.

The Bank Lords looked at each other nervously, one even glanced out of the open window. “You brought the Black Dread here?” he demanded.

“What if I told you that the Black Dread laid eggs?” Rhyaenna asked. “And it is the eldest daughter that flies in the skies above. I do not think she would like you harming her Mother.”

The Third Bank Lord leaned forward, curious. “You hatched them, as Your Mother did?”

“Aenerys has two sisters, and three brothers,” Rhyaenna explained. “They are my children, as their parents were my Mother’s. But I am not here to make threats. I am here to ask for your help.”

“And what help is that what you want from us?” The First Bank Lord asked.

“I seek only what is my birthright,” Rhyaenna replied.

“The Iron Throne?”

“Drogon melted the Iron Throne, and the throne was only an aging symbol. I desire to do what my ancestor did, conquer Westeros.”

The Bank Lords looked among themselves, leaning close and whispering, before pulling away to look at Rhyaenna.

“Say that we believe that you are the daughter of Queen Daenerys and her lover,” the First Bank Lord said. “Why should we fund your conquest?”

“I am not looking for you to fund it,” Rhyaenna replied. “Between Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen, I have more than enough gold and silver at my fingertips to fund myself already, but I do not want to… yet. I would like to know about your relationship with Westeros.”

“And why would we answer a question like that?” The Third Bank Lord asked.

“Because I come bearing gifts,” Rhyaenna replied. “I would like to open an account with the Iron Bank, and I bring more gold and silver than most of your patrons carry.”

Once again the Bank Lords leaned close together, whispering and arguing among themselves before pulling apart.

“Westeros, although it paid back its original debt with us so long ago, is in debt once again,” the First Bank Lord said. “Queen Cersei took out a large loan to buy her Golden Company, a failed investment if you ask me. Then, the Hand of the King took out another loan to pay for the damages caused by your mother, before her lover killed her.”

Rhyaenna fought against the urge to flinch. “How deep in debt are they?”

“Ten million gold dragons, in their currency,” the Second Bank Lord replied. “Across the Narrow Sea, your people and books speak of words such as blood right, vengeance, and usurper. Here, our books are filled with numbers, we prefer the plainer stories that they tell. More straight forward, less… open to incorrect interpretation.”

“How many fighting men are loyal to you?” the Third Bank Lord asked.

“Depends on what you mean,” Rhyaenna replied. “I do not plan to repeat my Mother’s mistakes, in bringing a foreign army to the kingdom that I want to rule. When I rule Westeros, Westerosi will make up my army. As of this moment, I have all of the Iron Fleet, and one of my personal friends is traveling to the various House’s that are loyal to my House.”

“You might have House’s loyal to House Targaryen, but what of the North?” the First Bank Lord asked. “That is a kingdom in itself, although it is not doing well, according to our reports.”

“It was a kingdom in the time of Aegon the First, and just like the Stark King then, the current Queen will bend the knee to me. Or else be replaced,” Rhyaenna said. “The Iron Fleet has almost a thousand ships and can hold a crew of fifty each. Combined with the other Vassals loyal to my House, their number is in the tens of thousands. You said that you prefer numbers, correct?”

“That is… Correct,” The Third Bank Lord said slowly.

“And I would like to add something to your numbers as well,” Rhyaenna said. “By recognizing me, as the rightful Queen of Westeros, I will pay back everything that the Throne owes you, as well as opening the account.”

“That is a… vast sum,” the Second Bank Lord said, almost choking on his words.

“Astapor, Yunaki, and Meereen were the richest, and most powerful cities in Slaver’s Bay, built upon the backs of slaves,” Rhyaenna said. “My mother freed them, gave them land and a purpose, and in twenty years the Bay of Dragons has flourished. Not a single child goes hungry and it’s easy for people to make a living, and when tax time comes, they are more than happy to pay. I am offering to pay for everything, down to the last copper penny that Westeros owes you, but only if you back my claim.”

“We will have to discuss them among ourselves,” the First Bank Lord said, standing up, his friends doing the same. “Give us a moment.”

* * *

 

When the three men left, Rhyaenna released the breath that she didn’t even know that she was holding.

Quickly, she got off the man’s back and walked to Vyreos, her Lover beaming at her with pride.

“How did I do?” Rhyaenna whispered.

“You are a true Queen,” Vyreo replied, tucking a lock of loose hair behind her ear. “You had me ready to drop to my knees and swear loyalty to you, then and there.”

Rhyaenna smiled shyly, staring deeply into his blue eyes with her violet. How she wanted more than anything to kiss him, then and there, but Rhyaenna forced herself not too. She had to stay focused.

The Lords of the Iron Bank came back half an hour later, and Rhayenna clasped her hands in front of her, waiting for their answer.

“We have talked among our colleges and weighed our options,” the First Bank Lord said. “And we have decided to accept your offer, but on one condition.”

“What is that?” Rhyaenna asked.

“We need to secure your allegiance to Braavos, as this is a big matter we have placed in your hands,” the First Bank Lord said. “And the best way to secure an allegiance is with marriage.”

Rhyaenna felt as if her heart had frozen in her chest. While she knew that somehow, someday, she was going to have to make a marriage allegiance, this was quite bold of them.

“We will arrange an eligible group of young men for you to choose,” the First Bank Lord offered, puffing out his chest. “I even have a son your age…”

Rhyaenna frowned. So, this was their game. They wanted her to choose one of their sons as her King Consort, thus putting their blood on the throne of Westeros, and thus always be in their debt.

“I can choose any Nobleman in Braavos?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Inside the upper circle,” the First Bank Lord replied. “There is a handful of Noble House’s that we could call royalty. You will choose one of them.”

“I already have,” Rhyaenna said quickly, lifting her chin.

The First Bank Lord arched an eyebrow. “You have a candidate in mind? Who is the lucky young man?”

“Vyreo, of House Volentin,” Rhyaenna replied, looking to Vyreo. “His Father is the First Sword of Braavos, as was his father, and his father, and his father before him. He comes from a House with an unblemished reputation. If anyone is worthy to be called my husband, then it is him. If he will have me, of course.”

Vyreo’s heart had leaped into his throat. Marrying Rhyaenna was his lifelong dream, and his mouth opened instantly to reply. “Of course, I shall have you.”

Rhyaenna smiled and took his hand, turning back to the three Lords who stood before her. “I shall remain in Braavos to complete all transactions, and I would hope, of course, that keep this a secret against the current powers of Westeros?”

“Of course, my Lady,” The Lords said, bowing, knowing that they had been beaten at their own game.

Rhyaenna gave them all a small bow before nodding to Vyreo, the couple confidently leaving the building.


	16. CHAPTER XV: SON OF SUNSPEAR

Corren’s eyes widened as the Great Pyramid of Meereen came into view. It had been a tedious, three-month ride by boat, and he had officially arrived in the Bay of Dragons.

‘This is where my life will be changed forever,’ Corren thought, as the Greyjoy ship dropped anchor at the Royal Docks.

“Alright, Sun Prince, this is your stop,” Alarina said, slapping Corren on the back. “Or are you a Star Prince, since you are half Dayne?”

“I’m a member of House Yronwood,” Corren corrected her, frowning.

“With the infamous sword Dawn, strapped to your back,” Alarina pointed out with a shrug. “Anyway, this is your stop. I’ll introduce you to the Queen, but after that, you’re on your own. I have more places to visit.”

Corren nodded, only to duck and covered his ears as a mighty roar filled the air. Corren turned in the direction of the roar, his eyes widening as half-grown dragon dived into the ocean and emerged with a large fish in its claws. The dragon flapped its wings, flying higher and higher in the air, joining a trio of other dragons that shared its size.

“T-T-That’s a dragon…” Corren stammered. “That’s an actual, fucking dragon!”

Alarina chuckled, smacking him hard on the back again. “Welcome to the Bay of Dragons.”

Leaving her crew on the ship, Alarina leads him down the streets of Meereen and in the direction of the Great Pyramid. As they walked down the various roads, Corren could see how the people lived, and he had to admit it was better than most smallfolk in Westeros.

Although there was poor within the city, they were not in poverty. Corren saw stalls lined up alongside the city walls where people were handing out bread, meat, and small jugs of some kind of liquid. The lines in front of the stalls seemed endless, but the guards, all bearing the Targaryen sigil, stood ready to defuse any fights.

“What are they doing?” Corren asked Alarina.

“Getting their weekly rations,” Alarina explained. “The Queen has a system, in which anyone can get free loves of bread, salted meat, and watered wine. Families of four or more children get double the rations.”

“How does she afford to do this?” Corren asked, surprised. “This must cost a fortune.”

“The Queen received tribute from all three of the Great Cities,” Alarina replied. “But at the same time, she collects heavy taxes from the rich.”

“But surely the Nobles hate that, don’t they?” Corren asked.

Alarina nodded. “At first they did, but the Queen started the process slowly. She explained to the Nobles that healthy people produce better quality work, which in turn enrich their pockets even more. So, while their taxes are heavy, they still are making two, three times as much money as they were before. There is also an increase in education, in which anyone, no matter their class, can go to school. People can rise through the ranks based on merit, not just their family ties.”

“It seems that your Queen has accomplished what Lord Tyrion has tried to do in Westeros,” Corren commented.

Tyrion Lannister was the one who suggested that people elect their own rulers, and the notion completely backfired. Since no one feared Bran or his Small Council, corruption was rampant throughout the cities and power bases. Taxes were collected but hardly anything was sent to the King. Worse, it was rumored that even some of the Lords had even returned to the forbidden wedding tradition of First Night.

It was thought as a mostly extinct marriage tradition in Westeros, at least Corren thought it was. The custom stated that when smallfolk marry, their lord or king had the privilege to bed the bride on the first night. Centuries ago, during the reign of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, it was under the urging of his wife and Queen that lead to him outlawing the practice. Now, the Lords of Westeros seemed to behave as if they had no King or Master and instead acted as they deemed fit.

“Do you think she can do it?” Corren asked, Alarina bluntly.

“Can who do it?” Alarina asked, stopping at the base of the Great Pyramid.

“This Rhyaenna?” Corren asked. “I’ve read the stories said about her mother, and how she burned down King’s Landing in a fit of madness. She failed in her quest to conquer Westeros, what makes you believe that her daughter can do it?”

“I can not give you that answer,” Alarina said. “I know my beliefs, but I will let you decide, what to think about her. Come on, the Queen is waiting.”

* * *

 

Corren stood nervously at the base of the throne room inside the Great Pyramid. He felt so small, standing at the bottom of the dais. The guards in the room didn’t make him feel any safer, as they all glared at him through their helmets.

The sound of doors opening made Corren look up, and his eyes widened as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, stepped forward. She was dressed in flowing red and black robes, the Targaryen colors, with a golden diadem in the form of three roaring dragons on her head, her infamous dragon necklace gracing her neck. Her violet eyes took in Corren, seemingly piercing his soul as she sat down on the small throne.

This was Queen Daenerys Targaryen, Corren could see that plain as day. All rumors that she was dead instantly were proven as lies as she sat before him. Corren was frozen in his spot, he didn’t know wither to bow or kneel before this mighty woman; a direct descendant from Aegon the Conqueror.

“Alarina,” Daenerys said. “Who is it that you’ve brought to see me?”

“This is Lord Corren of House Yronwood,” Alarina said, bowing her head respectfully before Daenerys.

“House Yronwood…” Daenerys replied, inclining her head. “What bring you here, My Lord?”

Corren swallowed the lump in his throat as he took a step forward, thanking the gods that he didn’t fall face-first in front of the queen. “I have come to pledge the support of Dorne, to your House, Your Grace. After the death of the Martells, my House has claimed the titles of Princes of Dorne. Before the time of Princess Nymeria, we ruled as High King’s of Dorne, before we were forced to bend the knee to the Martells.”

“And you wish to bend the knee to House Targaryen, this time?” Daenerys asked.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Corren said, before pulling Dawn from his back. “I bend the knee and swear my allegiance to you, and your House alone. I also bring Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne, gifted to me by my mother, an heiress of the House.”

Daenerys’s eyebrows shot up. She had heard of House Dayne, how the infamous Arthur Dayne was the best friend of her brother, Rhaegar. Now a member of his House was swearing fealty to her House.

“But I suspect that you are not here truly, for me,” Daenerys said. “But rather for my daughter, Rhyaenna.”

“The Lady Alarina has mentioned the Princess,” Corren said, unsure on how to press the whole ‘marriage’ subject. Then again, this might not be the time nor the place for it.

“Rhyaenna should be returning soon, from Braavos,” Daenerys said. “So if you can not wait…”

“He will wait,” Alarina said quickly. “In fact, he’s staying here, while I travel back to Westeros to gather more support.”

“Then he will stay as an honored guest,” Daenerys said, nodding to a servant who stepped forward. “Kyol will take you to our guest chambers, after which I would be honored for you to join me for dinner.”

“The honor would be mine, Your Grace,” Corren said, bowing deeply before following the Servant out of the throne room.

Here he was, in a new nation on the other side of the world. Corren had left everything for this Rhyaenna, and he didn’t even know if he might like her yet!

And yet, some part of him wanted to like her. He had seen the reforms that her mother had done, if Rhyaenna could bring this to Westeros then it would change the lives of everyone.

The soft rumble of his door opening made Corren look up, the young Lord instantly dropping to one knee as Daenerys stepped into his chambers. She nodded to the guards to close the door and she turned to Corren. “We should talk.”

* * *

 

Corren felt his heart freeze in his chest, as Queen Daenerys stood in front of him. This was the Dragon Queen, a woman with the firepower of the most powerful creatures in the world behind her. Yet, right now, she looked like a casual woman.

“A-About what, Your Grace?” Corren asked.

Daenerys walked to one of the highbacked chairs in the room and sat in it, crossing her legs. “About your intentions for my daughter. There is only one reason, that I would think, for Alarina to bring you here if you had something planned for my Daughter. So, I will ask you again, what are your intentions for my daughter?”

Corren knew better than to lie to this woman. “I am here… to marry her.”

Daenerys arched an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lady Alarina mentioned that you—The Princess I mean—wanted her army to be Westerosi. As of this moment, my House has the largest land army in the whole realm. To secure the allegiance, Lady Alarina said that the best way… was through marriage.”

“And what makes you think that my daughter will agree to an arranged marriage?” Daenerys asked. “I know my daughter, and she will not like arranged marriages.”

“What… what does she like?” Corren asked, needing to know about this mysterious girl he was supposed to marry.

“Depends on what you want to see in her,” Daenerys replied. “My daughter…” she sighed. “Looks like her Father, I… Every day I look at her, I see him looking back.” She looked at Corren, some part of her hoping he would mention Jon.

“I wish… I wish that I could tell you, about where he is,” Corren said. “But getting news on the North is like pulling teeth from chickens, an impossible task. From what I hear there are rumblings of war, as Queen Sansa hasn’t taken a consort and refuses to bear children. Not only that, but she’s seen as a traitor, by many in the South, as they wonder why she was allowed to leave but they were forced to stay apart of the Six Kingdoms.”

“And those Six Kingdoms are close to being fractured again,” Daenerys remarked, trying her hardest to not smirk in satisfaction at the knowledge that Sansa was struggling under the weight of ruling.

‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown…’ she thought to herself.

“If I’m being honest, I would say that Rhyaenna has both Jon and I’s best qualities, but also out worst; yet she knows how to balance them. She has my fiery temper, but Jon’s sense tranquility. She has our charisma, our desire to help the common people, as well as his sense of honor. Lastly, she is a warrior, like her Father, his father, and our forefathers.”

“She also possesses your blood, and thus is your claim on Westeros,” Corren commented.

“Correct,” Daenerys replied.

“So… is she taking the throne… for you?” Corren asked, having to know.

“Not at all,” Daenerys said, shaking her head. “Rhy is taking the throne because she knows it’s both her birthright, and she believes that she can bring peace to Westeros. I will do what as Mother is supposed to do, support her.”

Corren nodded and said nothing, looking away, nervous on what to say next.

“She has a lover, you know,” Daenerys said, bluntly.

Corren’s heart froze in his chest. “She… She what?”

“My daughter is a Dragon, her blood is hot and she has a passionate nature that few can match,” Daenerys looked at him. “If you marry, Rhyaenna will stop seeing her lover and give you her full attention. Like her father, she is honorable, a woman of her word, and loyal. As her husband, she will sleep with you, and you alone.”

Corren nodded again and said nothing, unsure what to say. He had hoped to be his future wife’s first, and she is his. Then again, maybe he could benefit from having a wife that was… experienced.

“I will let you get settled,” Daenerys said, standing up and smoothing down her gown. “The Great Pyramid is at your service. I will find a servant who will be your translator while you are here. Rhy should be returning over the next couple of weeks, so you can meet her yourself.”

For the next couple of weeks, Corren learned to navigate the massive structure that was the Great Pyramid. The upper levels were where the Queen’s chambers and Rhyaenna’s were located, as well as lush gardens that Corren discovered that he liked. They reminded him of the Water Gardens in Dorne, and he would spend hours there, reading books or playing his harp. The library that was in Meereen was also quite impressive, and the kindness of the servants helped pass the time.

Corren had been in Meereen for almost a month when he saw ships docking at the ports. The sails on them weren’t the Greyjoy Kraken, but Corren was too far away to get a good look. However, it was the roaring a dragon that told Corren who was on the primary ship.

Rhyaenna, she had returned.

* * *

 

Rhyaenna was overjoyed to be back home. Between sailing to Braavos, staying there to secure the allegiance with the Iron Bank, and then the travel back; her deadline to invade Westeros was approaching with rapid speed. Rhyaenna would have been back in Meereen a month ago, but terrible storms had forced them to dock in Volantis before they could finish the trip back to Meereen.

Now that they were back, she could move forward with her plan.

A horse was waiting to take Rhyaenna to the Great Pyramid, which she quickly mounted. Vyreo stays behind to oversee the loading of the ships, but he kissed her temple and told Rhyaenna to tell her mother hello for him. The hadn’t yet married, as Rhyaenna wanted to marry in Meereen, but to make sure their marriage was seen as valid, a representative of the Iron Bank had accompanied them; making sure Rhyaenna held up her end of the bargain.

The Princess charged down the streets, shrieking with laughter as the wind blew through her unbound hair. The guards let her pass, and Rhyanna rushed to her mother’s chambers.

Daenerys was looking over papers on her desk, and she looked to see who had burst into her room like this.

“Rhy? What did I say about charging in as if you are running from a demon?” Daenerys chuckled, rising from her desk and holding out her arms.

Rhyaenna rushed into them, burying her face in her mothers’ breasts as she held her close. “I missed you… Mother, I was so scared that something would happen to you while I was gone.”

“I’m safe, “Daenerys said, stroking her cheek. “As I would be. But tell me, how did your trip to Braavos go.”

Rhyaenna quickly told her mother everything, and Daenerys listened, nodding every now and then. However, when Rhyaenna got to the part about agreeing to marry Vyreo to secure the backing and funding of the Iron Bank, Daenerys frowned.

Her daughter, although wise in her way of outsmarting the crafty men in the Bank, might have ruined her chances with Westeros. At that very moment, Corren was somewhere in the Great Pyramid, and he was here to marry Rhyaenna.

“My Child did you… at some time… think about having to marry a Westerosi lord?” Daenerys asked.

“I did…” Rhyaenna said. “But Mother, I needed to secure the Iron Bank to us. They told me that Westeros is plunging deeper and deeper into debt. Alongside marrying Vyreo, I paid off Westeros’s debt, and opened a bank account with the Iron Bank.”

“I understand that,” Daenerys said. “But allegiances… allegiances are what make or break kingdoms.”

“And I will cross that bridge when I get there,” Rhyaenna said. “I need to get bathed and cleaned, but will I see you for dinner?”

“Of course,” Daenerys said, kissing her forehead before letting her go.

Rhyaenna returned to her chambers, and after taking a hot bath she dressed in a simple dress made of white linen and a golden belt. She walked to the gardens, once again happy to be back home, but something caught her attention.

It was the musical, soft notes of someone playing an instrument. The sound appeared to be coming from the gardens, so Rhyaenna followed the music.

There, sitting under one of the large apple trees was a young man with golden blonde hair. His fingers were gently caressing the silver strings, the music sensing a pleasurable shudder through Rhyaenna’s body as she listened. The young man was quite handsome, she had to say, with long golden hair, and fair skin with a band of freckles over his nose. His eyes were closed, so Rhyaenna couldn’t tell their color, but they appeared to be almond shaped.

Rhyaenna carefully walked closer, so transfixed by the music was she, that if she was a weaker woman then she would have wept for its beauty.

She must have stepped on a twig, because the music abruptly stopped and the young man opened his eyes, looking at her. His eyes were mismatched, one golden hued and one icy blue, but when he gave her a small smile, it threatened to outshine the sun.

“Hello, my Lady,” he said, standing up slowly.

“Please… Please don’t stop,” Rhyaenna begged. “Please don’t stop on my accord. Your music… it’s beautiful. Where did you learn to play that?”

“My mother taught it to me,” the Young Man said.

“She taught you well,” Rhyaenna said, smiling softly. “Where are you from, my Lord?”

“Dorne,” the Young Man replied.

Rhyaenna’s heart froze in her chest. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I was brought here to form an allegiance with the Princess Rhyaenna Targaryen,” the Young Man explained. “But I am nervous on what she will think of me…”

Rhyaenna tilted her head. “Why do you ask that?”

“Because… I’m here to propose marriage,” the young Man answered, then he stopped, leaning forward to get a good look at the woman he was talking too.

She looked to be his age, with violet eyes, light-tanned skin and hair as black as ebony. Corren’s heart skipped a beat as he realized who he was talking to.

“Y-Y-You…” Corren stammered.

“Yes,” Rhyaenna said, giving him a small smile. “I am Princess Rhyaenna Targaryen and… I must admit you have made a good first impression.”

Corren dropped to his knees, kneeling before her, as he had done her mother, but Rhyaenna bent down, lifting him up. “No need to bow. I do not like such formality anyway. What did you mean, when you said that you came here to propose marriage?”

“My name is Corren and I am the second-born son of Mortin Yronwood, Head of House Yronwood which controls all of Dorne,” Corren explained. “Your friend, Alarina, came to Dorne and convinced my parents that it would be best to reaffirm Dorne’s allegiance to House Targaryen.”

“So, you know then of my plan to take Westeros?” Rhyaenna asked.

Corren nodded. “And after seeing the changes your Mother has brought to Meereen, and listen to how others talk about you… I will admit that I believe that you can bring a change to Westeros.”

Red bloomed in Rhyaenna’s cheeks at his words, the Princess looking away. She didn’t know why she was so nervous around him, but she couldn’t stop herself from looking at him from under her lashes.

“I thank you, my Lord, for your confidence,” Rhyaenna said. “But you said that you came here to propose marriage to me… I already am engaged to another.”

Corren nodded, realizing that this might happen while she was in Braavos. He learned through the servants that she had gone to Braavos to secure an allegiance with the Iron Bank, and as Alarina said, the best way to secure an allegiance is through marriage.

“I… considered this…” Corren confessed, swallowing the lump in his throat as he struggling against his rising nervousness. “But… I have a proposal…”

Rhyaenna arched an eyebrow. “You do?”

“With your dragons and power, you desire to be Aegon the Conqueror, come again, correct?” Corren asked. “When Aegon conquered Westeros, he had two people by his side.”

“His sister-wives, who later became the first Queens of Westeros,” Rhyaenna replied. “I know this story.”

Corren forced his knees to not knock as he continued. “You will claim Westeros with two husbands: one from Braavos, securing the Iron Bank to you, and one from Westeros itself, legitimizing your claim over the realm.”

This surprised Rhyaenna, as she hadn’t thought of this plan. Targaryen’s had practiced plural marriage before, and it did make logical sense, now that she thought of his proposal. Westeros might flinch in disgust, knowing that she is married to two men, but then again the realm had no reason to talk with the activities of its previous rulers.

“Say I agree to this,” Rhyaenna said. “What is it that I gain, besides a new husband of course.”

“The full force of House Yronwood as well as Dorne, numbering over forty-thousand men,” Corren replied.

“Allow me to think this over, but I will give you my answer before the end of the night,” Rhyaenna said.

Corren nodded, bowing his head as he watched Rhyaenna walk away.

The Princess knew that she was going to have to tell Vyreo, and she wasn’t sure if he was going to be happy about this. But if she was to conquer Westeros she was going to need all of the support she could muster.


	17. CHAPTER XVI: UNION OF THE DRAGON’S DAUGHTER

To say that Vyreo was not happy with this proposal was an understatement, to say the least.

When Rhyaenna told her lover of Corren’s proposal, the Braavosi lord punched the wall. Thankfully, he didn’t break the wall nor his fist.

“Who the fuck does this man think he is?!” Vyreo demanded, glaring at Rhyaenna.

“He’s a nobleman from Westeros, I told you that,” Rhyaenna said. “Vyreo, wither you like it to not, we need him.”

“The hell we do!” Vyreo bellowed. “You’re supposed to marry me, remember?!”

“And I still can,” Rhyaenna said, trying to calm him. “Vyreo, listen to me. We need to… at least consider his proposal. We need his army and we need his position in Westeros. Think logically, please.”

Vyreo hated to admit it, but Rhyaenna spoke the truth, yet a part of him was still angry. He had wanted to marry Rhyaenna since the time they were children, and it seemed within his grasp. Yet, he was furious at the thought of another man swooping and in claiming what Vyreo believed to be his: Rhyaenna.

“How did Aegon… spend time between his wives?” Vyreo finally asked.

“He treated them equally, although it was known that the playful Rhaenys was his favorite,” Rhyaenna replied. “I will do the same with you two, treat you equally, you are my first Vyreo, and we will always be together. I will not do it if you do not support me.”

Vyreo wanted to scream, he wanted to shout, he wanted to kill this Corren so that he could have Rhyaenna all to himself. But deep down, like always, he knew that she was right.

“Fine,” Vyreo said through gritted teeth. “I will… I will give my support and my consent, but I swear to you Rhyaenna if it’s revealed that he’s using you…”

“You’ll kill him,” she chuckled, standing on her toes and kissing him deeply. “I know…”

Later that evening, the Corren was summoned to Rhyaenna’s chambers. The book grew pink-faced, as he realized what most likely happened in these chambers, but it didn’t endear him to Vyreo.

Instead, the Braavosi Lord glared at Corren, as he took in his rival’s appearance. Corren was taller than he was, but slimmer, and kept his face clean-shaven the opposite Vyreo who had a full mustache and beard. His skin was the color of molten gold, the opposite of Vyreo’s dark hair, and his mismatched eyes were different than Vyreo’s dark blue. They were opposites, with Corren looking like he would be more playful and happier, compared to Vyreo who took things quite seriously.

“I have thought over your proposal,” Rhyaenna said. “And after discussing it with Vyreo, he is the man I was supposed to marry, we have decided to agree.”

“But don’t think that I’m going to let you try and steal her, from me,” Vyreo snarled, unable to hold back his rage at the idea of possibly being replaced in Rhyaenna’s heart. “She was my first, and I will always be above you.”

“I heard that some political marriages can lead to love,” Corren said, looking to Rhyaenna, trying to not look at Vyreo. “That was what blossomed from my parent’s marriage. That is what I want.”

Rhyaenna nodded, understanding his meaning. “Then we are all agreed. I shall tell my Mother and plans shall be made for the wedding. My timeline is approaching soon, and I do not want to waste a moment.”

* * *

 

Daenerys was surprised at her daughter’s plan to marry both men, but once again she gave Rhyaenna her support. Plural marriage was common in Old Valyria and Aegon himself had married two women, so Daenerys rationed that this was Rhyaenna trying to continue his legacy.

The wedding was planned three months after Rhyaenna made her choice to marry Corren, which thankfully passed quickly.

Rhyaenna spent time with Corren, getting to know the man that was to be one of her husbands, and she found out that she liked him.

Corren was more light-hearted than Vyreo, easier to entertain or find joy in. He loved music and various other art forms, another thing that Rhyaenna liked. However, her betrothed lacked the necessary skills with his sword, and that could not stand. So, after much begging and taking Vyreo to her bed, Rhyaenna convinced the Braavosi Noble to train the Dornishman.

Rhyaenna would sit and watch them, trying her hardest to not laugh as Vyreo delivered beating after sound beating on the back of Corren. Yet, at the same time, Rhyaenna knew from her own personal training that the best was to learn was from experience.

A month before their wedding, Corren finally stood up to Vyreo in their training class. He had gotten used to the weight and feel of Dawn in his hands and had slowly begun to learn the rhythm of how Vyreo fought. Vyreo, who dual-wielded two light longswords, would swing up with one and block with the other. Corren learned to counter this by blocking with Dawn, then shoving forward with all his weight to break through Vyreo’s defense.

Rhyaenna watched both men with pride, nodding to herself as she watched them spar. She could already see that there was a rivalry growing between them, hopefully, though it would remain a friendly one.

That night, after Corren finally had begun to make new ground in his training, he entered his chambers and found Rhyaenna, laying on his bed. She was dressed in a semi-see-through purple gown, her black hair brushed so that it gleamed, and she smiled at him.

Corren dropped Dawn, his face pinking with embarrassment. “What… What are you d-doing here… my lady?”

“I wanted to reward you, for how far you’ve come in your training,” Rhyaenna replied.

Corren’s eyes looked down at the deep ‘V’ of her gown, how it revealed the valley of her breasts… He shook his head, clearing his throat. “N-Not to be rude, My Lady, but I am saving myself.”

“For?” Rhyaenna asked.

“When we get married, My Lady,” Corren replied. “I want the first time that I sleep with a woman to be when I am with my wife.”

“But I am to be your wife,” Rhyaenna pointed out. “And please, stop calling me, My Lady. You can call me Rhy.”

Corren swallowed. “Then… Rhy… if we are to be married, I ask that you respect my wishes. I want you… gods do I want you, but I believe it’s best that we wait.”

His words surprised Rhyaenna. Vyreo would have been pounced on her if he saw her wearing this outfit. Corren must have had great self-control to refuse her, and she found a new layer of respect for him. Sometimes the best things came to those who waited, and perhaps this would be one of those things.

“If that is your wish,” Rhyaenna said, sitting up, although Corren could see a good bit of her cleavage.

“It… It is…” Corren said. “But please, don’t leave yet. I would like you to… sleep with me. And by sleep with me, I mean just… lay next to me of course.”

Rhyaenna nodded, smiling softly. “I’d like that… I really would.”

* * *

 

Before Rhyaenna knew it the day came for her wedding, the event that would bind her to both Corren and Vyreo forever.

The night before the event she tossed and turned in her sleep, nervousness racking her body. Doubt began to seep into her mind, clawing at her subconscious.

Was she doing the right thing?

Could she even do this?

How was she going to make this work?

When the Servants came to dress her to the event, Rhyaenna was close to bursting into tears.

‘You are the Dragon’s Daughter,’ a voice said in Rhyaenna’s mind, starling the young woman. ‘Do not be afraid.’

Rhyaenna blinked, looking around in confusion at the sound of the voice. ‘Who… Who said that?’

‘You do not know me, Mother?’ the Voice asked.

Rhyaenna frowned, trying to think. The voice sounded so familiar, so very familiar, and then it came to her. ‘Aenerys?’

Her favorite dragon made a noise that Rhyaenna had to believe was chuckling. Aenerys wasn’t in Rhyaenna’s chamber, the creature had gotten much too large to do that, yet this was the first time that Aenerys had reached out to her. Normally Rhyaenna had to reach into the minds of her dragons but never had one done so to her.

‘I am worried, Aenerys,’ Rhyaenna confessed, walking to the window, although she didn’t know where the she-dragon was. ‘I’m about to marry a man that I have known all my life and a man that I hardly know…’

‘You humans… have this emotion that is called love?’ Aenerys asked. ‘You will follow your heart, as all members of your Family had done. And if he breaks your heart then I will burn him to ash.’

Rhyaenna couldn’t stop the laughter that erupted from her chest, the door to her chambers opening as the servants came to prepare their princess. ‘Thank you Aenerys,’ Rhyaenna said as the servants began to fill up her tub.

The servants scrubbed Rhyaenna until her skin was bright pink, cleaning her body and plucking all hairs minus that on her head. They poured a smooth, yet spicy-smelling oil made from lavender, cinnamon and orange blossoms on her body; making her skin soft to the touch. Her hair was towel died before being brushed until it gleamed, the Servants taking a careful hand to her face for Rhyaenna’s makeup.

Her wedding dress was one of bright blue and silver silk, a golden trim around the hemline. The faux-sleeved were clasped at the elbow, with a deep ‘V’ cut that stopped below Rhyaenna’s breasts. A golden tiara was placed low on her grow, the last crown from Meereen she would ever wear.

“You look… My gods, I can’t even describe it,” Daenerys said, appearing at the doorway to look at her daughter.

Rhyaenna turned to her mother, a shy smile on her lips. “Will they like me, Mother?”

“Of course, they will,” Daenerys said, tucking a loose lock of hair behind Rhyaenna’s ear. “Come, our guests are waiting.”

Rhyaenna took her mother’s arm, the two of them walking down the elaborately decorated hallways to where the ceremony was going to take place.

We wedding ceremony was to take place at the top of the pyramid, where a choking crowd of nobles from all the cities within Slaver’s Bay, as well as members of Vyreo’s family and of course the representative of the Iron Bank.

The crowd of people separated, the end of the line revealing Vyreo and Corren, standing in front of a small pitchfire. Between two stood Kinvara, the Red Priestess responsible for bringing Daenerys, and by extension Rhyaenna, back to life.

Slowly, Daenerys escorted Rhyaenna down the line, the various nobles whispering words of encouragement and praises to the young woman. Each step was a step closer to Rhyaenna’s new life.

When they stood before the two men, Daenerys let go of her daughter, and stepped back, leaving Rhyaenna alone.

“Who are you, Child?” Kinvara asked.

Rhyaenna took a deep breath. “I am Rhyaenna, of the House’s Targaryen and of House Stark.”

“And who claims the bride?” Kinvara asked, looking to the two men.

“I do,” Corren said, speaking first. “Corren, of House Yronwood.”

“As do I,” Vyreo said. “Vyreo, of House Volentin.”

“And you three come to this wedding willingly?” Kinvara asked.

“We do,” Rhyaenna, Corren, and Vyreo said, together.

“Do you promise to share your fire with each other?” Kinvara asked. “To warm each other when the night is dark and full of terrors? To share the joy as well as the pain?”

“We do,” Rhyaenna, Corren, and Vyreo once again said together.

“Then step into the fire and be reborn,” Kinvara said, stepping aside.

Rhyaenna knew of this custom, and she clasped Corren and Vyreo’s hands for support and to give them courage. The trio looked at each other, of course, a bit nervous, before gathering themselves and leaping over the flames.

“You started three separate people, now you emerge as one,” Kinvara said to the Trio, looking at them. “My lords, please place your Bride cloaks upon the Princess’ shoulders, and you may kiss your bride.”

Vyreo and Corren looked at each other, unsure who was to go first. Surprisingly, Vyreo took a small step back, nodding to Corren to drape his cloak over Rhyaenna first. Each man had to hand stitch the cloaks themselves, as in a way, they were putting a part of themselves into the cloak.

Corren stepped forward with his cloak, made with silver satin, decorated with white stars, the iron bars of his House, and draped it over Rhyaenna’s shoulders. His face once again turned red as she leaned forward and gave Rhyaenna awkward, yet sweet kiss.

Now it was Vyreo’s turn. The young Lord put his cloak over Corren’s, made of dark-blue satin, it was decorated with his family’s sigil of a sword stabbing a wave. When Vyreo leaned forward, his kiss was one of burning passion and hunger.

“They are now married,” Kinvara proclaimed to all watching. “Before the eyes of R’hollor, and the eyes of men!”

Thunderous applause erupted from the assembled nobles, all clapping and cheering for the trio.

Rhyaenna looked at the two men on either side of her, confused on what to do next. “After this is the wedding feast,” she whispered. “… and after that is the bedding…”

“I’m going to let the virgin have the honor of having the wedding night,” Vyreo said casually.

Rhyaenna blinked. “What?”

“You mean it?” Corren asked, dumfounded himself.

“I plan to get fucking drunk tonight, and I don’t believe I’ll be of much use to you,” Vyreo chuckled, kissing Rhyaenna’s cheek. “So yes, I will give the virgin the honor of the wedding night. So please, have fun!”

* * *

 

Food from all over the Bay of Dragon’s was brought to the feast, as well as exotic foods from Braavos. Rhyaenna didn’t eat much, nor did she drink much wine. She was nervous about the bedding, as it would be the first time she shared a bed with Corren.

Corren seemed nervous as well, but Rhyaenna put a gentle hand on his thigh to calm it.

It was quite late when Rhyaenna held out her hand for Corren to take, the young Dornishman slowly taking it. He followed Rhyaenna to her bedchamber, where they were to spend the night.

“Mind helping me, out of this?” Rhyaenna asked, turning around for Corren to see the stays of her dress.

With trembling fingers Corren each other, slowly untying Rhyaenna’s dress until it fell to the floor, leaving her in see-through sleeping silk.

“I… I don’t…” Corren stammered, his whole body shaking. “I don’t know what… What to do…”

Rhyaenna put a gentle finger to his lips, smiling softly. “Then let me teach you,” she whispered, before pressing her lips to his. “Let's go slow,” she whispered, pulling at the ribbons of her sleeping silk, letting the fabric fall to the ground.

Now she stood before him as naked as the day she was born, and Corren couldn’t help but groan deeply with desire. He brought his hands to her waist and began to rub, feeling her muscles clench at the feeling of his fingers.

“A-Alright…” he stammered.

Rhyaenna couldn't stop herself from giggling softly as she moaned at the movement of his fingers. Slowly, she unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it over his head before she lowered her mouth to his chest. Peppering gentle kisses on his skin, Rhyeanna grazed him carefully with her teeth, before moving up to his neck and collarbone, only to let out a soft gasp as Corren rolled them over, taking his place on top of her.

"Looks like someone is confident..." she said, her legs spread on either side of him.

Corren couldn’t stop himself from chuckling softly as he felt her thighs wrap around him, “I have… a good teacher.” He teased before leaning down and kissing her neck, trailing down slowly to her bare chest, where he suckled on her nipple.

Meanwhile, his other hand was traveling down her thigh to her buttocks, where he squeezed and groped as his mouth continued to bite and suckle on her nipple.

"Gods...." Rhyaenna groaned, her head tilting back, her body rippling against him.

Corren continued to kiss and nibble on her chest, before pulling away and sitting up. Slowly, he unbuckled his trousers, pushing them down to reveal his hardening length. Now, he was as naked as she was.

Rhyaenna looked at it, unable to stop herself, as she reached out and wrapped her hands around his member. Slowly, she began to stroke it, feeling it harden at her touch and hearing Corren groaned deeply in pleasure. It wasn’t long before he was fully hard, and Rhyaenna pressed her lips back to his, the two of them kissing intimately as she gripped his hips. Taking one of his hands, she showed Corren how to grasp himself, and line it up with her core. She showed him how to stroke himself against her couple of times, sending her hips into spasms, before she pulled her lips away.

"I'm ready," Rhyaenna whispered, looking into his eyes, the orbs seeming to glow from the low moonlight that shined from her window. She wanted to look into his eyes, the two of them not breaking their gaze as Corren slowly, and carefully entered her body, sealing them as one.

Corren was breathing hard in both excitement and worry. He wanted to have sex with her so bad, to finally be inside her... but at the same time, he was losing something... something sacred. Those doubts though were flushed away the second he looked into her eyes, those loving, violet eyes. He knew then that he was going to make love to her... all night. Holding himself with his hands, Corren took his member and guided it to her slit. Once it was aligned he thrust his hips, finally pushing inside her, making him moan from the sensation.

Rhyaenna was so warm... he never knew it would be this snug. He felt like he was a part of her now like he was giving a piece of himself to her... and he loved it. His mouth was agape from the pleasure, gods he loved how she felt... it was the greatest sensation he'd ever had.

Corren lifted his eyes to hers. "Gods... I love you..." He said before pushing deeper into her, his moans continuing, her walls wrapped around his member.

Rhyaenna gasped, her inner walls slowly spreading to accept him and his cock. Her back arching as she slowly began to move her hips with him. "Show me..." she whispered, pressing her lips to his, their tongues wrapping around his own, her hands guiding him how to move.

But it was soon apparent that the young Lord knew what he was doing.

Corren was thrusting very slowly, making their contact very sensual and intimate. He held her leg up with his hand, placing under her knee so that he could finally go deeper. He pushed in harder, but still slowly until he was mostly inside her. His whole length was now surrounded by her warmth, making him feel like he was on fire it was so hot.

He brought his face closer to hers as those hips of his shifted, their lips locking, interrupted only by moans of pleasure. "You feel amazing... so tight... so warm."

"I need it..." Rhyaenna whispered between kisses. "Damn it Corren... give it to me...."

She was in heaven, there could be no other word for it, but Rhyaenna knew that more pleasure could be found. Lowering her leg from his grip, She held onto his waist, rolling them over so that she was on top. Here, she began to rock her hips at first, letting him get used to her being on top and her riding him.

"Fucking hell..." she groaned, her head rolling back as she put his hands on her hips.

The second Rhyaenna placed Corren’s hands on her hips he squeezed, knowing she loved it when he did so. In this position she could use him as she saw fit, to ride Corren how she wanted. He was moaning at this as she put her whole weight on him, making his length sink all the way inside her, though he was still able to say a few words here and there.

“Rhyaenna…” Corren moaned, holding her hips, pure passion, and desire in his voice.

Rhyaenna’s rocking turned to her bouncing, and her moans melted into soft, breath cries of pleasure. She was lost in their joined pleasure and she pulled him up so that Corren's back was pressed against the headboard of her bed. She pressed her forehead to his as she slowed her rocking, staring deeply into his eyes.

"I love you... Corren," she whispered, finally speaking the first words herself.

Corren blinked, surprised but then he buried his face between her breasts. “I love you too… Rhy… I'm so happy that I did this with you." He whispered.

Rhyaenna slowed her bouncing to rocking, her hips moving to that of a sensual dancer as she stared deeply into his eyes. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips back to his, her mouth opening so that their tongues could dance and intertwine, like the lovers they were.

Corren gripped her waist, carefully rolling them over so that he was on top. Now, fully confident with himself, Corren draped Rhyaenna’s legs over his shoulders, as he began thrusting again.

Rhyaenna gasped, her head tilting back as she groaned. Her breasts bounced with each hard thrust, her thighs quivering with pleasure. "Yes...." she whispered in his ear, her hands sliding down to grip his ear, her nails digging into the muscled flash. "Gods… yes…”

Corren let out a grunt as those nails dug into his flesh, but he fought against the pain. Instead, pride replaced it, the Dornishman smirking as he realized that she was holding him. He brought his lips to her neck and began to kiss her there while she whispered to him, begging him to make her reach her climax, something he was happy to do.

Rhyaenna was close.... so fucking close. She kept on trying to fight it, but his short, yet savage thrusts were her downfall. As he pushed into her one last time, Rhyaenna tossed her head back and released a high-pitched, cry of release that ripped through her whole being. Her whole body shuddered, her inner walls clamped around his cock, pulling it deep within her body as she gasped.

The feeling of those walls clenching and pulling him in is what broke Corren as he finally exploded inside her as she screamed out his name. He came deep inside her, filling her womb with his seed, the sensation of which was like nothing he ever experienced. He slumped atop her, breathing heavily and covered in sweat.

"Mm... that was good..." He said into her ear as he slowly kept on thrusting, making sure that he was finished inside her. “I hope… that I satisfied you…”

Rhyaenna groaned softly, moaning as his hands massaged her breasts, her turning her head to kiss him deeply. "That was more than good..." she panted, sighing as she felt him still, slowly thrust into her. "That was.... great...”

“You… you enjoyed it?” Corren asked, her words rising his heart.

Rhyaenna cuddled close, smiling. “I loved it.”


	18. CHAPTER XVII: BLOOD OF MY BLOOD

Gentle lips pressed to the middle of Rhyaenna’s back, soft kisses traveling up her spine. The Princess sighed softly in her sleep, the toe-curling sensation slowly awakening her from her sleep.

“Did I wake you?” Corren asked, pressing butterfly kisses to Rhyaenna’s shoulder.

“A little,” Rhyaenna sighed, smiling sleepily.

Slowly, Rhyaenna rolled over, her husband pressing his lips to hers almost instantly. Moaning deeply, Rhyaenna pulled him on top of her, rippling her body as he settled between her legs.

“How can you be so perfect…?” Corren asked between kisses.

“I’m not,” Rhyaenna replied, her hands sliding down his bare back. “Never claimed it, never plan too…”

“Then I shall believe you to be so,” Corren chuckled, his lips sliding to her neck.

Three months had passed since their wedding, the Dornish Lord had settled rather quickly into his position as one of her husbands, and for that Rhyaenna was glad. Rhyaenna had always wanted to marry for love, as that was what her mother had taught her to do; and she loved Vyreo and Corren. Each man was the opposite of each other but in the most wonderful way. If Rhyaenna was to be the new Aegon, then her two husbands each had qualities that were reflective of her ancestor’s sister-wives.

Vyreo was like Visenya, a dark, sensual man with a handsomeness as sharp as steel. He was quick to anger, while also being unforgiving at offenses, quite serious and stern. Yet, at the same time, he was the most protective of Rhyaenna, always at her side if her personal guards could not be. When he would take Rhyaenna to bed, Vyreo was more passionate than Corren, the young Braavosi Noble hungry to prove his worth.

Corren was like Rhaenys, a more delicate-looking man, although he was a head-taller than Vyreo. There was always a sparkle in Corren’s eyes, a smile on his lips, and skip in his step. He was more kindhearted, more playful and curious about things, while also being mischievous. When he would take Rhyaenna to bed, Corren was more into giving her pleasure first, wanting to take his time with the act.

When it came to what both men had in their trousers, they couldn’t be more different either. Vyreo had more girth over length, for Corren it was the reverse.

Yet, Rhyaenna tried to not play favorites.

While the final stages of the conquest were being hammered out, the trio used that time to find a balance with each other.

Rhyaenna knew that she had to spend equal time between both men, but at the same time she also desired time for herself. So, she split the month in half. Ten days she would spend in Vyreo’s bed and ten days she would spend in Corren’s. The final ten days would be for her personal time, although it didn’t take the young men long to try and slip themselves into that time as well. Vyreo was the guiltiest in doing it, but Corren quickly caught onto the game his ‘rival’ was playing.

Right now, was supposed to be Rhyaenna’s personal time, but Corren had managed to slither into her bed the night previous. Vyreo had traveled to Yunkai to get the last of the taxes that were owed to Daenerys, as Rhyaenna had plans for the gold. Once his ‘rival’ was gone, Corren had made his move.

Then again, it wasn’t like Rhyaenna minded, she hated having a cold bed personally.

“You are going to be in trouble when Vyreo returns tomorrow evening,” Rhyaenna said to Corren.

The Dornish Lord smirked playfully, a warm hand sliding up her leg. “If he kills me, then I shall die a happy a happy man…”

Rhyaenna couldn’t deny the pleasurable thrill that shot through her body at his words, and she bit her bottom lip in anticipation.

* * *

 

 

Corren gripped Rhyaenna’s waist, rolling her onto her stomach, pressing his body against hers. His warm hands slowly slid down her body, his lips pressed to her neck, nibbling gently.

“It’s a lie when you say that you are not perfect,” Corren whispered, sliding her sleeping gown up so that it gathered at her waist. “This body was made by the gods.”

“Which one?” Rhyaenna asked, spreading her legs, hungry for his touch.

Corren rubbed himself against her, the feel of his tip made Rhyaenna buck against him in desperation. “It would be considered heresy… but I would say all of them.”

Slowly, Corren slid into her warm depths, the Dornish Prince gripping the sheets next to them with a low groan of pleasure. Rhyaenna had been his first, and Corren wanted for her to be his only. His father was loyal to his mother, and Corren planned to be the same way with his wife. Then again, Corren’s mother would have sliced off his father’s balls with a rusty dagger and fed it to him if he looked at another way.

As a Dornishman, Corren was raised with the theory of the pleasures of sex having no gender; as long as the act was consensual of course. Corren, however, had always preferred women.

“So… how much trouble will I get in with Vyreo… once he finds out about this?” Corren asked through clenched teeth, fighting to not lose himself in her body.

“Depends…” Rhyaenna moaned, feeling him slowly move.

“On…?”

“… On if… fucking gods… I tell him….”

Corren grinned and leaned down, nibbling again on her shoulder. “If I please you… will you promise not to tell…?”

“Please me… and see…”

Corren smirked, his hands gripping her waist, keeping his pace slow and tortuous. If Corren were Vyreo, then he would have begun to ram into her, thrusting hard and deep. However, Corren had long since learned that the best way for him to get what he wanted from Rhyaenna, was to sexually torture her. That meant to keep his pace slow and even, making sure to draw out the pleasure as long as he could.

“Is it possible for me to claim the title as First Husband… when we go to Westeros?” Corren asked.

“You keep fucking me like this… and I might just give it to you… on a silver platter,” Rhyaenna replied, her nails digging into the sheets under her.

Rhyaenna tried to lift herself up on her hands and knees, but Corren continued to press her down. By keeping themselves virtually flat, it allowed their bodies to stay closer so that Rhyaenna could listen to the beat of his heart.

The Princess could feel her toes begin to curl, her breathing increased as Corren quickened his pace. Spurred by the feel of her body, the head that sat in his trousers quickly replacing the head that sat upon his shoulders. Rhyaenna’s moans melted into soft, breathy cries of pleasure, her body quivering as she got closer and closer to her release.

Corren pushed deep into her one last time, and it was that thrust that shattered Rhyaenna’s resolve. The Princess tossed her head back with a cry, her inner walls pulling Corren deep within her body. Corren’s own head tossed back as he released a low groan of release as he poured into her, her inner walls wrapped around him like a vice. Rhyaenna shuddered with a sigh, sinking into the mattress as she felt him fill her with his seed, as well as hearing him whisper something under his breath.

* * *

 

“You did it again,” Rhyaenna said, watching as Corren splashed water upon his face. “You said something after you… you know.”

“Finish?” Corren replied, chuckling softly. “It’s a prayer.”

“Why do you pray?” Rhyaenna asked, curious.

Rhyaenna was never religious growing up. Her mother taught her about the Valyrian Gods, the Lord of Light and the Westerosi Faith of the Seven, but Rhyaenna never really worshiped any of them. She didn’t see the point, as for all Rhyaenna knew they might not even be real. Then again, it was the Lord of Light that brought Daenerys back from the dead, so it is possible he is real…

“Because it was how my mother raised me,” Corren answered. “A lot of the people, where you plan to rule, are very religious. Most follow the Faith of the Seven, while some follow the Lord of Light.”

“Are there any other gods in Westeros?” Rhyaenna asked.

Corren wiped his face. “In the North, some of the Houses worship what is known as the Old Gods. They are the ones that give Bran his power, and by extension, you I believe.”

Rhyaenna sat back on the bed. “Something is on my mind about this Bran the Broken. If he is so ‘all seeing’ then why has he not tried to prevent my conquest?”

Corren shrugged. “Perhaps your power cancels out his? You both are wargs after all.”

Rhyaenna frowned, thinking. “That could be it… but when we arrive in Westeros I do not want to take any chances.”

Realization settled upon Rhyaenna. Almost everything was ready for her conquest. Before the Princess knew it, she would be boarding her ship for Westeros.

‘I am the Blood of Dragons of Wolves’, Rhyaenna reminded herself. ‘I have the blood of Kings and Queens in my veins.’

Corren walked back to the bed, sliding in next to her. “But do you want to know the true reason, why I pray?” his hand rested upon her stomach.

Rhyaenna covered his hand with hers. “Corren… I still am taking that herb…”

The time was still much too dangerous for her to become pregnant, Rhyaenna knew that. The target on her back would be even greater, once it was discovered that she was carrying a child. Any child she bore would pose an even greater threat to Bran and Westeros than Rhyaenna herself, and that was not a risk that she was ready to take.

“When I am sure that it’s safe, I promise you that I shall stop taking my herbs,” Rhyaenna swore to Corren, cupping his cheek.

“Can I get the first round of baby-making-trials?” Corren teased.

“You’ll have to fight Vyreo for it,” Rhyaenna pointed out, giggling.

“Then the best is prepared to lose,” Corren replied, pressing his lips to hers.

* * *

 

When Vyreo returned with the last of the Yunkai taxes, it was swiftly melted down to be turned into coins. The metalsmiths labored hard, day and night, making what would essentially become the new currency of Westeros. At least that was what Rhyaenna hoped would happen.

In Westeros, there were three main types of currency: golden dragons, silver stags, and bronze pennies. However, at least according to the Iron Bank, Westeros was in debt for several tens of millions of gold dragon coins. Rhyaenna easily paid this off with interest, and by opening a new account with them, thus opened a new line of credit. But that credit would not need to be used, as Rhyaenna was bringing gold, silver, bronze, and iron coins with her to help enrich the kingdom.

Her ships were being loaded with no less than six million gold dragons, ten million silver stags, and fifty million bronze pennies.

When Robert Baratheon took the throne, the coins had his face and sigil on them. When Bran Stark took the throne, the coins had pictures of ravens on them. Now, when Rhyaenna arrived, she planned for the coins to be similar but also slight differences. For starters, everything would have her new sigil, created by an idea that she got from Corren.

Since Rhyaenna was half Stark and half Targaryen, her new sigil would reflect it. It was a roaring dragon and a snarling wolf, their faces combined with her new words: Honor above All. Yet, Rhyaenna knew that the subject of honor was tricky, but she would not try and compromise it.

The golden coins would be called golden dragons, as they always have been, and have her face on one side and her crowned sigil on the other; resting on top of the flaming heart of R’hllor.

The silver coins would be changed to silver wolves, to reflect her stark heritage, with her face on one side and her new sigil on the other; resting on top of a heart tree, or weirwood.

Lastly, copper pennies would keep their name and would have Rhyaenna’s face on one side and her new sigil on the other; resting on top of a seven-pointed star after the Faith of the Seven.

The time it took to make all the coins took three more months, and before Rhyaenna realized it her two-and-a-half-year time frame was over. Everything finally was ready to come together.

Rhyaenna’s stomach felt as if it was twisting itself into a knot as she stood on a balcony in the Great Pyramid. In the skies above her dragons, now young adults were flying, although Aenerys stayed close to the woman who had hatched her.

Below her, at the docks, Rhyaenna watched as the final items were being loaded onto the massive ships; courtesy of the Iron Fleet. There were only twenty ships in the pier, but that was all that Rhyaenna needed to help her cross the Narrow Sea, and into Westeros. While the majority of her army was waiting for her in Dorne, Rhyaenna was not going to meet them there.

“Rhy?” Daenerys said gently.

Rhyaenna turned around a nervous smile on her face. “Oh… hello, Mother…”

“Tomorrow is the big day,” Daenerys said, walking to stand at her daughter’s side.

“Yeah…” Rhyaenna said softly. “It… It is…”

“Are you ready?” Daenerys asked.

Rhyaenna wanted to say yes, she wanted to tell her mother that she was ready, that she was ready to take back what was theirs. But her tongue couldn’t move, instead, it stuck in her mouth like tar.

Daenerys smiled softly and cupped Rhyaenna’s cheek. “I can see that you are afraid. Good. You should be afraid.”

“But I am a Targaryen…” Rhyaenna retorted. “I am a Stark… I shouldn’t be afraid.”

“No, you should,” Daenerys replied. “My child, a wise man once said, ‘You are in the great game now, and the great came is terrifying…’ You should be afraid, as being afraid keeps you humble. You can not make the same mistakes. When I left Meereen, I said goodbye to a man who loved me, who proclaimed his love for me; and I felt nothing. You have two good men behind you; that will defend you with their lives. Use that, relay on them, listen to their wisdom.

“Surround yourself with men and women who will check your wildest impulses. Who will hold you responsible for the things you do wrong and support you when you do right.”

“But you will be at my side,” Rhyaenna said, desperate for her mother to be there for her. “Right?”

“I told you that I will only be at your side as an advisor,” Daenerys replied. “And once you are crowned then I will return to Meereen. Westeros is nothing to me.”

Rhyaenna was silent a moment. “What… What if I find Father?”

Daenerys turned away, unable to look at her a moment. She had held out hope that Jon was still alive, in fact, she prayed for it every night. But never once did Daenerys think of what would happen if they met face-to-face.

“We will cross that bridge when we get to it,” Daenerys replied, sighing softly. “But before we leave, I have presents for you.”

A servant stepped forward, holding two items wrapped in cloth. Curious, Rhyaenna reached out and took the first one, unbinding it to see what was inside. The cloth fell away to reveal a bastard sword, which meant it was a good half a foot longer than a standard long sword, tapered to thrust as well as slash. There were three fullers incised into the blade to reduce weight. There were ripples in the dark steel indicating it was of Valyrian steel. The grip fits perfectly within Rhyaenna’s hands, but it was the dragon-and-wolf-heads on the rain guards that really drew her attention.

“I wanted to make you something that showed your bloodline,” Daenerys said, watching as Rhyaenna inspected her new sword. “When Aegon the Conqueror came to Westeros he wielded Blackfyre, and that sword has long been lost to our family. I believe it’s time for us to have a new ancestral weapon.”

“I love it…” Rhyaenna whispered in awe, carefully swinging it side to side, getting a feel of it. “I… I should name it, right?”

“I do believe that’s what you do,” Daenerys chuckled softly.

Rhyaenna thought a moment and then held her sword up into the light. “Valyrion. That will be our House’s new ancestral weapon.”

“Valyrion…” Daenerys repeated, nodding. “I like it.”

Rhyaenna opened the second package, revealing a dagger with a white-headed wolf on the pommel. However, there was something haunting with this dagger, something that sends a shudder of fear up Rhyaenna’s spine.

“This was it…” she whispered. “This was the dagger He used to kill you.”

Daenerys nodded. “It is. I want some good to come out of his dagger, and as Jon’s daughter it’s only right that you wield it, alongside your new sword.”

Rhyaenna wanted to throw the dagger off the side of the Pyramid but accepted the gift with a nod. She glanced behind her mother and saw another servant holding a box and inclined her head. “What’s in there?”

Daenerys shook her head, chuckling softly. “That is my last surprise, and you’ll only get it once you take the throne of Westeros.”

Rhyaenna grinned. “Then it’s best that I go to sleep, tomorrow is the big day.”

* * *

 

Morning came faster than Rhyaenna realized, the Meereenese Princess not getting a wink of sleep. Then again, Rhyaenna didn’t believe that she could, she was too big of a bundle of nerves.

Rising from her bed, Rhyaenna walked to the large steaming tub in the center of her now stripped-down room. All her personal items had been packed into boxes and crates. Her servants came and bathed her, helping her out of the tub, drying her off, then helping her dress.

Rather than picking a new outfit to wear, Rhyaenna settled on an outfit that she had found while helping her mother pack.

It was a long-sleeve formal black tunic that reached her knees with tight, black trousers and matching boots. Small red rubies glittered on the chest, forming that of a dragon. This was Daenerys’ outfit when she left Meereen and traveled to Westeros, and this was the outfit that Rhyaenna planned to wear as well.

Rhyaenna’s hair was brushed out and loose, unbound as per her mother’s advice. She had not won any battles yet and thus was not worthy yet to wear a jahaq.

‘Soon though…’ Rhyaenna thought.

It was a long, silent walk to the pier, where the massive ship that would take Rhyaenna to Westeros. A black, red, and gold dragon head was carved into the bow of her ship, As Rhyaenna walked up to the gangplank, in her mind, she pictured the main three people who had taken everything her mother had fought so hard for.

Sansa Stark. Tyrion Lannister. Bran Stark. In their own quest for power, they had driven her mother mad and convinced Rhyaenna’s own father to kill her. They thought that in Daenerys’s death then it would put an end to the Targaryen Line. But what is dead will never die, as it rises back harder and stronger.

They would taste Fire and Blood.

The ships began to pull away from the pier, and before Rhyaenna knew it they were out among the open sea. Her army was waiting for her in Dorne, but that was not where Rhyaenna planned to dock her ships. No, Rhyaenna was going to land on the island that her ancestors had first claimed when they landed on Westeros. Where Rhyaenna planned to land, was Dragonstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter-a-thon I have been posting! Lol. This is it! This is the chapter in which our little queen sets off for Westeros! I chose this chapter to be the one in which I leave on a little hiatus. I have work and school coming up, and will be gone for the next couple of weeks. So until I return, I hope you enjoy the chapters!
> 
> Also! How about a little contest? I want to read your predictions on how Westeros is going to react once Rhy touches in Dragonstone? 
> 
> Which Houses will be her allies? Which will be her enemies? How do you think Bran and Tyrion will react? I find it strange that a man who can see all time & space hasn't told his Hand about his cousin who is arriving with dragons and a massive Army already in Westeros?
> 
> Tell me everything guys! The person who gets it the closest will get a special shot out from me!
> 
> Toodles!


	19. CHAPTER XVIII: A DEN FOR WOLVES, A CASTLE FOR DRAGONS

Jon leaned down on his horse, giving his mount is head as they charged through the snow. At his side ran Ghost, the white of his fur blending in with the snow around them. The two of them were racing, although it was clear that Ghost was winning. The goal was a large clearing in the frozen forest, which Ghost reached first.

“Damn it Ghost!” Jon laughed, his grey-streaked hair flying out around him as he panted to catch his breath.

Ghost held his head high, prancing around his Master with a clear air of superiority. The Direwolf unleashed three high-pitched barks, the sound of which summoned a litter of teenaged pups, their Mother trailing behind them. They emerged from their den, running up to Ghost and licking his mouth, whimpering and yelping with joy; their tails wagging as if there was no tomorrow.

Jon slid down from his horse, watching as Ghost trotted over to his family.

Ten years ago, when Jon was traveling with the Wildlings to their winter homesite, they discovered a young, female Direwolf, revealing that Ghost and Nymeria were not the only ones. It did take some time, but eventually, Ghost won the she-wolf over and she bore a litter of six pups.

All the pups, save one, favored their Dam, black with amber eyes. Yet it was the youngest, a fiery female, that matched Ghost completely. She possessed his white fur, red eyes, and silent personality.

Jon did not name the Pups nor their Dam, as he did not believe it was his right; yet he wanted to bring them all to the Wildling settlement that wasn’t far from their den. He feared what might happen to them, when he or Ghost wasn’t around, as Hunters might see them and try and take the risk to hunt them; thus seizing their prized pelts.

“Enjoy time with your family, Boy,” Jon said, rubbing Ghost’s head. “I’m going to walk around a bit.”

After making sure his jacket was secure, Jon trudged through the thick snow ideally; not really knowing where he was going. Nothing truly was on his mind, but as Jon walked, he came upon a something that made him stop.

In front of him sat a half-way frozen waterfall, the waters slowly pouring over the glistening ice.

 _‘We could stay here for over a thousand years… and no one would find us…’_ Daenerys’s voice said, in Jon’s head.

Jon’s heart clenched as he heard his Lost Lover’s words, the waterfall reminding him of when he took his first dragon ride. It had been thrilling, exciting, terrifying; but some part of him knew that he would alright.

 _‘I am a Targaryen after all,’_ Jon thought, bitterly.

 _‘We can do it together…’_ Daenerys said in Jon’s mind _. ‘We can make the world a better place… We can do it .... together..._ _’_

 _‘You will always be my Queen,’_ Jon remembering he had said to her, pressing his lips to hers _._

And then he plunged his dagger into her heart.

Silent tears slid down Jon’s cheeks, the Northern Lord dropping to his knees among the icy slush as he cried.

Jon had lost more than just the love of his life that day, he had lost a portion of his soul.

Although Jon didn’t have the power of Greensight, he foresaw a future with Daenerys.

Daenerys wanted the throne, Jon was perfectly fine being just her Consort. He saw her ruling the Seven Kingdoms, he saw them breaking the curse the Witch had laid on her by having a large family, he saw them growing old together.

But she had gone mad.

In her rage, her own sense of wanting vengeance on what had happened to her Daenerys had set fire to King’s Landing; killing hundreds of thousands of people. She had wiped out who knew how many generations, all in the name of her own sense of justice.

 _‘What if I was wrong, in what I did,’_ Jon thought. _‘What if Tyrion was wrong? What if Dany was right? What if I was manipulated to do the bidding of others… Bran is King of the Six Kingdoms and Sansa is Queen of the North. Could they both had used me for their own ends?’_

The barking of Ghost broke Jon from his thoughts, and he turned to see Ghost, his Mate, and their pups, trotting over to where Jon stood.

Jon’s eyes fell upon the lone white Female, how she matched her stride with her fathers _. ‘I always wanted children, but after the death of Dany, it seems that even that was snatched from me. Maybe I am destined to be forever along Wolf among the North.’_

* * *

 

Three months. That’s how long it took them to cross the Narrow Sea and enter Westerosi waters.

Three months. That’s how long it took for it to fully settle into Rhyaenna’s mind that she was doing this.

Dragonstone. The island that her ancestors had called home for centuries was still there, well, half of her ancestors. Rhyaenna was part Stark after all.

But Dragonstone was where House Targaryen had first landed after they had fled Old Valyria before the Doom. It was their home for centuries, and now it would be their home again.

Daenerys stood next to her daughter on the bow of their ship, a silent tear sliding down her pale cheek. Two decades. That’s how long it had been since she had seen her homeland, and the heart-clenching emotions still stabbed her in the heart every time. She remembered when she first arrived at Dragonstone, all the countless reactions swirling in her head. Daenerys felt so alone, as Grey Worm, Missandei, Varys, even Tyrion Lannister didn’t understand how close to tears she was.

Daenerys had been born on this Island, only to be smuggled away by her House’s supporters.

Daenerys had lived on the run for countless years in Pentos, surviving assassination attempt after assassination attempt on her life.

Daenerys had birthed her three dragons, only to lose two of them.

Daenerys had been killed by the one man she trusted most, only to be brought back by the Lord of Light.

Daenerys had felt so lone, the first time she saw Dragonstone with her adult eyes. Now, Daenerys had someone to share this with, someone who understood how she felt. Her own daughter.

Rhyaenna smoothed out the folds of her dress, clasping her hands in front of her. She was wearing the exact same outfit as her mother did when she first came to Westeros; although Rhyaenna had modified it somewhat. It had to fit her much taller frame, and actual rubies had been sewn in, to replace the red beading.

The nobles of Southern Westeros flashed their wealth daily as if it was their right. Rhyaenna was going to have to play their games to achieve her goal.

Daenerys was dressed simply, in a snow white and cream gown. In fact, it was a similar gown in which she wore in Meereen all the time in which she was holding court. Daenerys did not come to Westeros as a conqueror, as she had done before. No, she was a simple advisor to her Daughter, that was all.

A small boat was brought alongside the ship, Vyreo and Corren going down the ladder first before helping Rhyaenna and Daenerys down. In the skies above, the six young dragons beat their wings in the air, following Drogon who seemed to be happy to be back at this familiar place. The small boat moved swiftly over the water, Vyreo, and the small party quickly jumping out to pull it ashore.

Two-dozen men, clothed in light armor that bore the sigils of House Velaryon of Driftmark and House Celtigar of Claw Isle were waiting for them on the beach. Once the boat was pulled ashore, Rhyaenna took Corren’s offered hand, the Princess, jumping out of the boat and landing into the wet sand. The moment she did, however, Rhyaenna bent down and untied her shoes, handing the boots to a nearby servant. She flexed her toes, feeling the wet, cool sand between her toes.

This… This was her home.

This was the land of her mother’s birth, her father’s birth, her ancestors on both sides birth. Dragonstone was where House Targaryen laid its first eggs after the Doom, before hatching into the roaring beast that ruled for generations. Now, dragons would fly in its skies, sleep in its caves, and maybe even walk among its halls again.

Rhyaenna needed to make this trip barefoot, she needed to feel everything. She didn’t care if her feet might start bleeding, her feet could heal.

Bending down, Rhyaenna picked up a handful of the sand, running it through her fingers before dropping it to the ground and looking to her mother to lead the way.

The Westerosi soldiers formed a protective circle around the group, although they waited for Daenerys to lead them. Daenerys did just that, without a word, she walked up to the beach and to the unguarded gates. This confused Daenerys, as she thought that Tyrion would have some people watching over the island.

 _‘Then again, they believe me to be dead,’_ she thought _. ‘And since I do not know where Jon is, if he is dead or alive, they must have thought that the castle would go to ruin’._

Thick ropes had been tied to the gates, eight of the Westerosi soldiers leaving the protective circle to grab the robes. Pulling with all their strength, the doors to the slowly turned on their hinges, loudly creaking as they revealed the massive castle.

 _‘We should change the springs in the doors, and secure the gates,’_ Daenerys thought _. ‘The gates and walls are built into the cliffs, as long as we can secure this door, it will hold out on any invasion that might come our way.’_

The group walked up to the long walkway, which would be easy to defend. The walkway made a sort of bottleneck, preventing large forces to invade at once. But Daenerys wouldn’t put anything past Tyrion, the Imp would find a way to achieve his goals, no matter what.

They entered the castle, Daenerys marveling in surprise at how good condition the castle was in. It was going to be a very thorough cleaning, but it wouldn’t take long to restore it to its former majesty when Targaryen’s called it home.

While the Westerosi men, Vyreo and Corren left to secure the castle, Daenerys and Rhyaenna entered the empty throne room, hewn from volcanic rock. Memories instantly came flooding back to Daenerys, as she remembered that it was in this throne room when she first met Jon. It was so long ago, but Daenerys remembered it as if it was just yesterday. It hadn’t taken him long to show her that he was a caring, and kind ruler, nor did it take him long to seduce her and make their child.

 _‘Jon… was I only a means to an end for you?’_ Daenerys thought, painfully _. ‘Did you only see me as something—not someone—to help with your problems? What about me? Where were you when I needed you most?’_

Daenerys stepped aside, looking to Rhyaenna and waiting to see what she would do. At first, Rhyaenna was frozen, her eyes transfixed upon the throne. Slowly, she stepped forward, reaching out a trembling hand as she ran it over the volcanic stone and velvet chair. The cushions were moldy, rotting away; they would have to be replaced. But right now, Rhyaenna did not want to sit down, there was something else she wanted to see.

Striding past the throne, Rhyaenna walked down the hall that Alarina told her was behind the throne. It was the Chamber of the Painted Table, and Rhyaenna walked alongside it, running her fingers over the outline of Westeros. The pieces that used to be here were long gone, and the paint was blackened, rubbed away by time.

Everything was going to have to be painted again, redone with the new power structure of Westeros. Yet, in a certain way, it gave the illusion of a blank canvas, of a blank land that needed to be reformed into a powerful kingdom.

Vyreo, Corren, Daenerys, and Alarina stepped into the room, their eyes on Rhyaenna, wondering what she wanted to do. Rhyaenna looked at those standing before her, reaching out resting her palms upon the painted table.

She looked into everyone’s eyes, before speaking the first words uttered since their landing: “Shall we begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol ok, NOW I'm going on my little vacation! Couldn't help but post this chapter for your guys! 
> 
> NOW you can post your predictions for this next chapter in Rhy's (and Westeros's) lives!


	20. CHAPTER XIX: A KNIFE IN MY HEART COULDN’T SLOW ME DOWN

It was a warm, clear day when the doors to the Dragonstone aviary were opened. Inside, a flock of over a hundred ravens was stirred, each one shaking the sleep from their eyes. Spreading their wings, the flock took to the skies, each one possessing a letter tied to their legs, each one having a destination.

The largest raven flew to King’s Landing, landing in the Royal Aviary and let out a loud squawk. The young lad in charge of overseeing the Ravens looked at the bird in confusion, as he didn’t believe that the king was expecting any news. Yet, he carefully grabbed the bird and took out the letter, his eyes roaming over the contents before all the blood drained from his face.

Putting the bird into a cage, the boy ran down the scares as fast as he could, almost tripping over his feet as he ran to the reformed Tower of the Hand.

“My lord!” the boy yelled to Tyrion. “My Lord!”

Tyrion looked up from the letter he was writing to a minor lord and frowned. “What is it?”

“T-This came,” the boy said, his hand trembling as he held out his hand.

Tyrion took the letter and looked over it originally with disinterest. Then, she scrambled to his feet and ran to the Small Council chamber. He barked orders for the servants to find the other members of the Small Council and bring them to the chamber immediately. It was quite early, and everyone—except Brienne wo was always on guard duty—had to be awoken.

“What’s the matter Tyrion?” Davos asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“This letter arrived on the wings of a raven from Dragonstone,” Tyrion replied. “Please, Ser Davos, read it aloud for the Council.”

Davos took the letter, doing as instructed.

**_To the Lords, Ladies, and Smallfolk within the Kingdom of Westeros,_ **

_A new dragon flies over the skies of the Realm. It was believed that in crowning Bran The Broken, it would bring peace to the kingdom. Instead, corruption, bankruptcy, and dishonor now roam freely through the streets._

_My name is Rhyaenna, daughter of Daenerys and Aegon Targaryen, known to you as the King of the North: Jon Snow. Through my parents, I claim the throne of Westeros and all of the Seven Kingdoms. However, I do not wish to claim my birthright through the blood. I will honor the legacy of my ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror. Those that bend the knee will keep their titles, lands, and serve as Lord Paramount’s. Those that refuse will be bathed in Fire and Blood. I command a combined force of Dorne, the Ironbon Fleet, House Velaryon of Driftmark, House Celtigar of Claw Isle; and seven dragons._

_Join me. I desire to become Queen of Westeros, but I also desire to become Shield of my People. I await your reply. A new dawn has come to Westeros._

Silence fell upon the Small Council table, no one knowing what to say or do.

Brienne took a deep breath. “How… How do we know that this is real? How do we know this isn’t just some prank?”

“The boy who got the letter said that it came from a flock so large that it blocked out the sun,” Tyrion replied. “So, we can only assume that this same letter was sent to everyone who could read in the realm.”

“Should we talk to the king?” Davos asked.

“I will tell him,” Tyrion said. “We need to prepare ourselves if this is real. We need to prepare the people for war. We thought that we had seen the last of the Targaryen’s, Apparently not.”

After the meeting, Tyrion walked to Bran’s chambers and nodded to Podrik to let him inside.

Bran was sitting by the fire, staring into the flames, as still as a statue.

“Your Grace?” Tyrion said, taking a deep breath. “We have… a situation.”

“It’s about the Targaryen Girl,” Bran said. “The daughter of Jon and Daenerys.”

Although Tyrion had grown accustomed to Bran’s outbursts, as well as his ruler knowing all; every now and then Bran would say something that surprised the Dwarf.

“You know?” Tyrion asked.

“Of course,” Bran replied. “I’ve been watching her for years.”

“So… So, she is real then?” Tyrion asked.

“I can swear to you that she is who she says she is. And yes, she has seven dragons: Drogon, and six younger ones.”

“Your Grace, I need to know how to beat her,” Tyrion said, kneeling before his king. “If she has that kind of power behind her…”

“I see no danger from this girl,” Bran said.

Tyrion blinked. “N-No… No danger? Your Grace, she has sworn to rain down fire and blood upon the people of Westeros who do not bend the knee to her. How can you say that she poses no danger?”

Bran said nothing and turned back to the fire, once again going back into his corner of silence.

Tyrion rose to his feet, knowing that his audience this his king is over. Returning to his chambers, Tyrion paced the floor, raking his brain on what to do.

Bran had confirmed that this girl was who she claimed to be, and that was terrifying. The daughter of both Daenerys and Jon Snow had the greatest claim to the throne anyone could ask for, not to mention the dragons behind her. This Rhyaenna also claimed to have the backing of the Iron Bank, which, Tyrion suspected, was the cause of them not replying to his letters.

Tyrion had to figure out what to do, and figure it out fast.

Going to his desk, Tyrion took out a pen and piece of paper, writing a letter to this Rhyaenna Targaryen.

* * *

 

One by one the Ravens made it to their destinations, and one by one it caused an uproar within Westeros.

The Great Houses did not know what to make of the letter like the Lesser House’s began to choose sides. Many within Westeros declared that they did not know this Rhyaenna Targaryen, and she must be a fake. Others said that it was known that Daenerys and Jon Snow were lovers, and a child was the obvious result of that affair.

“I don’t care who this bitch claims herself to be,” Sansa raged to her Small Council. “Obviously she’s a fake, but even if she was telling the truth then she’s a bastard, as her parents weren’t married.”

“So… we will not bend the knee to her?” A Northern Lord asked.

“Of course not!” Sansa raged. “The North has been independent for almost twenty years and shall stay that way! This letter means nothing to us!”

Yet several of the smaller Northern House’s did not feel the same way. They remembered what Daenerys Targaryen had done for them, how she had sacrificed her armies and two of her dragons to save them from the White Walkers.

Wylla Manderly, the current Lord of House Manderly of White Harbor was the loudest in those who spoke in favor of Queen Daenerys.

One day, her daughter Dyana came upon her mother in her study, writing a letter before giving it to the Maester.

“Mother?” Dyana said. “What are you doing?”

“Securing our future in the North,” Wylla replied, nodding for the Maester to take the letter to the aviary.

“Our future?” Dyana repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

“I am inviting this Rhyaenna Targaryen to White Harbor,” Wylla said, standing up. “If she is who she says she is, then I want us to be among the first to pledge our support to her and her cause.”

“But shouldn’t we be serving House Stark?” Dyana asked.

Wylla rolled her eyes with a scoff. “The current members of House Stark have shown themselves to not have an ounce of loyalty or honor as their sire. That bitch Sansa Stark will only live so long, hopefully, sooner than later.”

Wylla had always hated Sansa Stark, the woman was too haughty for her own good. She believed herself the wrongest woman in the world and deserved to be worshiped like a goddess. Wylla, who was born and bred a woman of the North refused to submit to this half-Southerner.

‘Perhaps this Rhyaenna Targaryen and I can help each other,’ Wylla though, smirking.


	21. CHAPTER XX: THE DRAGONPIT – PART 1

Daenerys found Rhyaenna inside the Chamber of the Painted Table. The Princess was overseeing a painter sent by the current Lord of House Velaryon, watching as the man added color to the once blank canvas. Aegon the Conqueror had made this table when he planned his conquest, but the power structure has greatly changed since his day.

The Seven Kingdoms were now the Six Kingdoms, with the North reigning as an independent kingdom. But these kingdoms were fragile, led by rulers who had bitten off much more then they could chew. Rhyaenna was born and raised to rule, as was her birthright.

“I plan to take the North last,” Rhyaenna said, looking up as her mother entered the room.

“Might I ask why?” Daenerys asked, curious about her answer.

“I want Sansa Stark to watch, as I take the different regions of Westeros one by one,” Rhyaenna replied. “I want her to feel hopeless, so when I arrive with the might of Westeros upon her door, she will have no choice but to bend the knee.”

Daenerys’s lips curved into a rueful smile. “If the Sansa Stark I remember is still alive, then she would rather die then bend the knee to anyone.”

Rhyaenna smirked. “All the better. I’ll replace her with someone loyal to me.”

“What are your plans, might I ask, for say Bran and the members of his small Council?” Daenerys asked, taking a seat.

“I am unsure yet what to do with Bran,” Rhyaenna replied. “The same goes for a couple of others. But those that activity had a hand in your assassination will be bathed in dragon fire, that I can assure you.”

Daenerys nodded. “Make sure though, my child, that you do not let your hunger for vengeance cloud your judgment. That was what happened to me, and you know my story. You are here to be the Queen of Westeros…”

“…And the Shield of its People,” Rhyaenna finished. “I know, Mother. I will try my hardest to not kill the Smallfolk. Because of that, I plan to leave Aenerys’s siblings here, with you on Dragonstone. Aenerys is more than large enough for me to ride and our practice sessions have been successful. The armor and the harness you had made for her fit perfectly. Hopefully, Drogon won’t mind.”

Daenerys couldn’t help but chuckle. “Drogon seems to be happy to pass off the hatchlings onto you. Although I’m glad that she has accepted me as her rider again.” Her face grew serious. “But the time has come for us to talk about matters of war. Several letters have arrived for you, each one barring seals from various House’s.

“What do they say?” Rhyaenna asked.

“I will say that your reception is… mixed,” Daenerys replied. “Most believe that you are an imposter, as everyone believes that I am dead. Some think that you are who you say you are, but they want nothing to do without because they know what I did at King’s Landing twenty years ago. Please know that these letters are from mostly House’s close to us, and we are yet to hear from the Reach, the Riverlands, as well as the North.”

“Anything come from King’s Landing?” Rhyaenna asked.

Daenerys nodded. “In fact, it did. It was a letter from Tyrion, who of course serves as Hand of the King to Bran. He invites you to King’s Landing to ‘talk’.”

“Which no doubt could be a trap…” Rhyaenna said, frowning.

“Indeed,” Daenerys said. “What do you want to do?”

Rhyaenna tapped her chin, pacing the floor as she thought a moment. “Perhaps all we need is a show of strength, to make this Tyrion Lannister know that I am who I say that I am and that I mean to take the throne. I want to do this as peacefully as possible Mother, but I am not afraid to use fire and blood.”

“So, then a raven should be sent back to Tyrion then, telling him that you agree to meet,” Daenerys said. “But if this is a trap…”

“A queen must be ready to put herself in danger for the greater good,” Rhyaenna said, looking back to the table. “And that means making allegiances… I will talk to Vyreo and Corren tonight, see what they have to say. Tell Tyrion we will meet with him in two weeks. Give them enough time to gather his Small Council and discuss it among themselves. But my question is this, what location is secure enough, yet big enough, for us to make an escape?”

Daenerys thought on it, then lifted her head. “The Dragonpit. I will write a letter, leave everything to me.”

* * *

 

Later that evening, Rhyaenna sat in the bedchamber that once housed Aegon the Conqueror. Everything had been thoroughly cleaned and new furniture had been brought from Meereen, but the carved dragons in the falls spoke of the bloodline that had built this castle.

‘I hope I am worthy of your name,’ Rhyaenna thought as she began to undress for the night.

There was a knock on the door, Vyreo, and Corren both coming into the room. Since Rhyaenna was splitting her time equally between both men, only she slept in the primary chamber. Her husbands instead were given the chambers that used to belong to Aegon’s queens with Corren taking Rhaenys’s chamber, and Vyreo taking Visenya’s.

“Finally, we have time with you,” Vyreo joked, kissing Rhyaenna on the lips before she turned to kiss Corren.

“I’m sorry,” Rhyaenna apologized. “I didn’t expect to be so busy… Between overseeing our settlement here and meeting with the Lords sworn to us…”

Corren placed the books down that he had been carrying onto the desk. “It is alright, Rhy. I understand.”

“Speak for yourself, Dornishman,” Vyreo said gruffly. “It’s your night with her. Don’t think I forgot about you sneaking into her bed while I was away at Yunkai.”

Corren gave Rhyaenna as sly wink before sitting down in a chair. “It is not your fault that you left our wife in a cold bed. As her husband, it was my duty to warm it, as spoken in our vows. Besides, you got caught up when you returned, didn’t you?”

Vyreo’s lips curved into a smirk, remembering his week with Rhyaenna. “That is true…”

“I didn’t summon you two here to discuss your bedroom secrets,” Rhyaenna laughed. “I summoned you here for advice. This morning, Mother received a letter from Tyrion Lannister, who serves as the Hand of the King. He has invited me to King’s Landing to ‘discuss’ my terms.”

“It sounds to me like a trap,” Vyreo said gruffly.

“Agreed,” Corren said, nodding. “I do not know Tyrion personally, but I know of his reputation. Remember, the open rumor is that he is the only thing preventing the realm from falling into complete chaos.”

“Good thing that I came along when I did then,” Rhyaenna said, crossing her arms. “But that being said, I do want to meet him. I am curious to meet with the Infamous Imp the man who Mother has told me so much about.”

“I suggest that you make a small show of your strength then,” Vyreo suggested. “Take three of your dragons and half your army.”

“The army cannot be too big or else it might be seen as a declaration of war,” Corren pointed out. “But I do like where you are going.”

Turning to his books, Corren dug around until he produced a paper, handing it to Rhyaenna.

“While you have been busy, Vyreo and I have been overseeing the blacksmiths in creating armor bearing your new sigil,” Corren explained. “After all, if you want a universal army, it helps that everyone is wearing the same type of armor.”

“How many suits have been made already?” Rhyaenna asked, nodding in approval in what she saw.

“About fifty, so far,” Vyreo replied. “The blacksmiths that we brought from Braavos are currently helping the Westerosi. Together they can create about five suits a week.”

“I told Mother to tell Tyrion that we will desire to meet in a fortnight,” Rhyaenna said, frowning. “That will give us… what, ten more suits of armor?”

“Maybe five more if the blacksmiths work faster,” Vyreo said. “But if they do so, then it might cause mistakes.”

“And we cannot afford mistakes,” Rhyaenna said, handing the sketch back to Corren. “Keep the blacksmiths working at their normal pace. When more blacksmiths come to our side, that will mean more suits of armor.”

“So, you will take the fifty men then?” Vyreo asked.

Rhyaenna nodded. “And all seven dragons. I will ride Aenerys of course and I want Mother to ride Daenae. Drogon might cause a bit of a scare for the smallfolk.”

“We are coming with you, right?” Corren asked.

“Of course,” Rhyaenna said. “Both of you will be wearing your normal formal wear with chainmail underneath.”

“And you?” Vyreo asked.

“I will wear a remodeled outfit that Mother wore, when she was in Westeros,” Rhyaenna replied. “But it will have the stark colors of light grey, in the cape. Trust me when I say, I have carefully plotted every single outfit I wear. Outfits represent power and position, and I plan to make a statement every time someone sees me.”

Corren nodded. “I will oversee the preparation of our ships, and talk to the Lords of House Velaryon and House Celtigar.”

“And I shall oversee the weapons and armor,” Vyreo said.

Rhyaenna nodded. “Thank you, both of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She laid onto the bed, biting her bottom lip with a grin as she looked at both. “Too bad you insist on spending separate nights with me. How I would love to share a bed with both of you at the same time…”

Vyreo and Corren looked at each other, Corren growing bright red and Vyreo tossing his head back in deep-throated laughter.

Vyreo slapped Corren on the back. “You have grown on me Dornishman, but not that much. Enjoy your night with the queen.”

Corren couldn’t help but chuckle himself, watching as Vyreo closed the door behind him. When Corren turned back around, he saw that Rhyaenna was looking at him in clear hunger. Rhyaenna pulled at the ribbons of her sleeping silk gown, the fabric falling away as she laid seductively on the bed, crooking her finger at him.

* * *

 

It had been twenty years since the rulers of the Great Houses of Westeros had gathered for a formal meeting. They all had agreed to try and stay out of each other’s hair after the crowning of Bran, yet it was an open secret that one way or another they hated each other. Yet, a situation this grave forced them to set aside their differences to come together.

Everyone, but the North that is.

Queen Sansa had refused to come South for this meeting Tyrion had summoned all the Lords to King’s Landing. Declaring that Rhyaenna was nothing more than a fraud, Sansa had forbidden any Lords of Ladies of the North to go to King’s Landing for this meeting. However, ever the rebellion stirrers, Wylla Manderly sent a Representative from White Harbor to watch this meeting from the shadows.

For the first time in twenty years, Edmure Tully of the Riverlands, Rob Arryn of the Vale, and Gendry Baratheon of the Stormlands were coming down to the Crownlands. Bronn Blackwater of the Reech and Tyrion Lannister of the Westerlands already resided within King’s Landing, although Tyrion told his nephew Jamie that he was to take his seat as Lord of the Westerlands. Tyrion, like always, was going to have to sit in for the King.

Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands and Mortin Yronwood of Dorne had already declared for Rhyaenna, giving her a clear foothold in the realm. It was also an open secret that several small House’s had sent representatives as well, all eyes were upon this unknown girl from who claimed to hold the blood of Dragons.

The guards around King’s Landing had been more than doubled, yet Tyrion knew that they were severely underequipped to handle an attack by dragons. All the scorpions had been destroyed by Daenerys years ago, and Qyburn did not exactly write down the formula to making them. Not only that, but Tyrion had not been expecting a dragon attack at all during these twenty years, so he saw no need in making them.

When the morning came for the meeting to happen, everyone within King’s Landing was on edge. Rumors of a dragon queen had spread and the Smallfolk had retreated into their homes, shutting their windows and locking their doors. Some even took a refugee into one of the many septs, praying to the Seven.

The Lords of the Great House’s met in the throne room, each one arguing over who was to be the one to greet this Rhyaenna Targaryen and her armies. Yara and the Iron Fleet hadn’t arrived yet, neither did Lord Mortin, so that left the other Lords.

“I do not see why she even needs a greeting party,” Edmure snapped. “It is clear that she is a liar.”

“We can not take that chance,” Gendry said. “As the land closest to Dragonstone, it is my lands that will suffer the most if/when she comes ashore. So, I guess I shall greet her.”

“Make sure to have a dagger on you, just in case,” Edmure said, smirking as he slapped Gendry on the back.

Gendry felt a lump form in his throat, his face paling as he wondered if the men were throwing him to the wolves.

“I shall greet her with you,” Jamie said, speaking up.

The Lords all turned to him, a mere boy compared to the rest of them. Yet, Jamie saw Tyrion nod, and he felt a small sense of calm.

“I shall come with you too,” Joanna said, standing at the side of her brother.

Edmure arched an eyebrow. “Forgive me, my lady, but what you are asking to do is dangerous…”

“Then it’s a good thing that my mother is the Lady Commander of the Kingsguard and had trained me how to use a sword since I could walk,” Joanna said, crossing her arms. “Not only that but you are all men, you have no idea what goes on inside a woman’s mind. I do.”

Tyrion hid his smile. “It is decided then: Gendry, Jamie and Joanna will greet this, Rhyaenna, and bring her to the Dragonpit for us to talk. The gods be willing none of us is going to die today.”

 _‘At least, not us that is,’_ Tyrion thought, leading the other Lords out of the throne room.

* * *

 

Gendry stood alongside Jamie and Joanna at the main Kingsroad that lead to the Dragonpit. He looked at the twins, the children of the man who regularly slept with the woman that was married to his father. He knew the twins were heavily watched by virtually everyone to see if they carried the incestuous lust, but neither seemed to do so. In fact, it seemed the opposite with Joanna refusing to have anything to do with boys, and Jamie refusing to have anything to do with girls.

“Who do you two believe this girl is?” Gendry asked, breaking the silence. “A real Targaryen, or an imposter?”

Jamie shrugged. “I do not know what to believe.”

“A part of me wants to believe it,” Joanna said. “And another part of me doesn’t. I am split.”

“As am I,” Gendry said. “It was Daenerys Targaryen who legitimized me and made me the Lord of the Stormlands. I owe everything I am to her. And yet…”

“Part of you holds back because what she did to King’s Landing,” Joanna finished.

Gendry nodded. “Exactly. I also find myself wondering if I should hold the child accountable to herm other’s actions, and for that, I have no answer.”

The sound of uniformed footsteps could be heard coming up the road, and as the three of them turned to look they saw what appeared to be a small army walking toward them in strict formation. They were standing, neither of them could see the faces of the men at first, but as they neared they saw four figures on horseback.

The ground felt as if it was trembling as the small army got closer and closer, yet as they neared Gendry saw that the army wasn’t as big as it looked. If he made an assumption then he figured it was around 50-70 men, but they all form the same uniform armor. It looked lighter than what most nights in Westeros wore, and on the breastplate was a sigil that had the combined face of a snarling wolf, and a roaring dragon.

‘Seven hells…’ Gendry though to himself.

It became easier to see the four figures, and Gendry recognized two of them as Yara Greyjoy and her daughter, Alarina. The two men, Gendry did not know.

The group came to a stop several meters away from Gendry and his group, the men parting so that the four riders could slide off the backs of their horses. Yara led the group, dressed n her Greyjoy armor, her daughter right behind her, the two men right behind them.

“Yara,” Gendry said, giving a small nod of his head.

“Noble Bastard,” Yara said in greeting, a clear pun on his position.

Gendry gave a small chuckle. “Nice to see you too. Hello, Alarina.”

Alarina said nothing but crossed her arms.

“Are you going to introduce me to the men with you?” Gendry asked.

“The two men can introduce themselves,” Vyreo said, crossing his own massive arms. “Vyreo Volentin, son of the First Sword of Braavos.”

“Corren Yronwood,” Corren said, much softer than Vyreo. “Son of Mortin of House Yronwood, Prince of Dorne.”

“Are you serving as your father’s representative to them… Lady Rhyaenna?” Gendry asked, unsure of the proper title.

“The Princess Rhyaenna is our wife,” Vyreo said, never one to mince words. “Both of us.”

Gendry’s eyebrows shot up. “I… I see… Well then, my Lords, my Lady, please follow me. Lord Tyrion is awaiting us. Is… your wife coming behind you?”

“She’s on her way,” Corren said, not giving away any other information.

Gendry cleared his throat and nodded, turning around to lead the men into the Dragonpit.

Jamie watched looked at the two new men out of the corner of his eye, surprised at their titles. He had not expected that turn of events, and he knew that his Uncle wouldn’t expect this either.

When the group arrived, Tyrion slid down from his Hand of the King chair to greet Yara, Alarina, and the two unknown men with them.

The air was tense as Tyrion watched as Yara and Alarina lead the two men to the section assigned from them, across from the Lords of Westeros. All eyes were on them, everyone trying to read them, learn something before anyone else.

While Yara and Alarina were dressed in their standard Iron Island light armor, Vyreo and Corren were dressed differently. Both men wore black trousers over black leather tunics, although under their clothes were linen shirts and the light chainmail that Rhyaenna had instructed them to wear. Their cloaks were the color of their Houses, golden-yellow for Corren and light-blue for Vyreo, but the clasp was of Rhyaenna’s sigil.

Behind them came a handful of select guards that Vyreo had chosen as a sort of ‘Queensguard’ for Rhyaenna, a mixture of Dornishmen, Meereenese, and Braavosi to watch over his wife. They all wore what was clearly light armor with breastplates that had Rhyaenna’s sigil, with red and black cloaks upon their backs.

“Greetings, my Lords, and my Ladies,” Tyrion said, looking to Yara and her daughter. “Who are these people with you.”

“Allow me to present Lord Vyreo of House Volentin, and Lord Corren of House Yronwood,” Yara replied.

“Husbands of Princess Rhyaenna,” Vyreo and Corren said together.

The Lords of Westeros all began to look at each other, murmuring, not sure what to say.

“Two husbands…” Tyrion said slowly. “One from Braavos, I am guessing, and one of Westeros…”

“Two husbands, as Aegon the Conqueror has two wives,” Dravos whispered to Brienne.

“Welcome then, my Lords,” Tyrion said, spreading his arms in greeting. “Where is your… wife?”

“She will arrive shortly,” Vyreo replied. “She wanted us to arrive first.”

“I see…” Tyrion said. “Then, please, let us sit down and introduce ourselves.”

Vyreo and Corren sat down in the seats opposite side of the main chair, obviously leaving it for someone. They listened as the different Lords of Westeros introduced themselves one by one, but neither of them really cared who they were. Their eyes instead were on this Tyrion Lannister, the Imp.

“…And I…” Tyrion said. “Am Tyrion Lannister, as I am sure you already know, the Hand of them…”

A chorus of roaring filled the air, everyone looking instantly up into the skies. Seven dark shadows moved among the ground as seven dragons flew in the air, each one’s roar’s filling everyone's ears.

The largest dragon, clearly Drogon, flapped his wings, staying high in the air as two of the dragons broke formation. The first dragon, a black and cream colored one, dipped down first. It wasn’t in anywhere close to the side of Drogon, but it still was a great beast.

Carefully, it flapped its wings, landing onto the rocky sides of the Dragonpit as it landed. Tyrion could have sworn that he saw a flash of white hair upon the dragon, but he figured that it was because this Rhyaenna possessed the Targaryen coloring.

Only, that wasn’t the case.

As the dragon lowered its shoulder so that its rider could get off and the rider began to walk forward, the blood drained from Tyrion’s face.

The person walking towards him was a ghost, it had to be a ghost, there was no way possible that Daenerys Targaryen was real. Yet with each step, the blood in Tyrion’s body ran cold. This woman wasn’t a ghost, this woman clearly was Daenerys Targaryen and the look she gave Tyrion turned his blood to water.

Yet, Daenerys did not take the center chair, nor did she sit down yet. Instead, she turned, watching as the second dragon landed.

This dragon was two times bigger than the one that Daenerys rode. Black, with red wings, the dragon tossed back it’s head with a deep, thunderous roar that shook the Dragonpit, chattering everyone’s teeth. Carefully, this dragon crawled down, lowering its shoulder so that its rider could dismount.

This time, the rider had black hair, the same jet-black hair that Jon Snow was known for. Dressed in the same black outfit that Daenerys wore, this Girl’s cape was light grey, the color of House Stark.

The Girl unbuckled herself from the saddle and carefully slid off her dragon’s back, folding her fingers together as she walked slowly to where Tyrion and the other Lords of Westeros stood. No one said anything, Tyrion was pretty sure no one even breathed as the girl neared, and the closer she got the more dignified her appearance became.

It was clear the girl was a great beauty, just like Daenerys was. She possessed the same violet eyes as Daenerys, but that was where the similarities ended. It was clear as day, to everyone who had seen and known Jon Snow, that this girl was his daughter. From her smoldering eyes to the shape of her nose, to the curve of her mouth. This girl, this Rhyaenna was his daughter.

Daenerys smiled at her daughter as she approached, holding out her hands which Rhyaenna took. Leaning forward she kissed her daughter’s cheeks before turning to Tyrion and the assembled men.

“My Lords,” Daenerys said. “Allow me to present my daughter: Rhyaenna Targaryen, the rightful Queen of Westeros.”


	22. CHAPTER XXI: THE DRAGONPIT – PART 2

If Tyrion could be any other place in the world, the Imp would be there. He didn’t even care if it was in the middle of a volcano. Any place was better than facing down the daughter of Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow in the middle of the Dragonpit.

This Rhyaenna appeared to be around nineteen, maybe just nearing her twentieth birthday. It was the exact age any child of Jon and Daenerys would be, as Westeros was nearing its twenty-first year after the ‘death’ of the Mad Queen.

‘Who’s death it seems, wasn’t final as death should be,’ Tyrion thought.

He glanced at the other Lords assembled, they all looked as horrified as Tyrion was. All the blood was drained from their faces, no one was moving, no one even looked to be breathing. The only person who looked smug was Yara Greyjoy, Tyrion figured. She had never willingly submitted to the Throne, neither had Dorne.

 _‘This girl has married into the House that boasts the largest army in Westeros…’_ Tyrion thought painfully. _‘If the marriage contract between Joanna hadn’t worked out, I was going to push for her and the eldest son of Dorne. Now, there is no way that they’ll go with my plan now.’_

“What’s wrong, Lord Tyrion?” Daenerys asked innocently, her voice was high and sweet in Tyrion’s ears. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Perhaps he has, Mother,” Rhyaenna said, tilting her head to the side. “Afterall, it was he who organized your murder, was it not?”

Tyrion visibly flinched, their words striking him like a physical blow. It was going to take all of his wit to get both himself, and the other Lords of Westeros out of this Pit alive.

“Perhaps we should all sit down and… discuss the matter at hand?” Tyrion suggested, forcing his face to remain passive.

“Of course,” Rhyaenna said. “We have much to talk about…”

Rhyaenna walked to the center chair, casting a side glance as Vyreo before turning around. Slowly, she sat down with regal grace few possessed in this world, crossing her legs over each other and resting her hands on top of her knees. Daenerys took the seat to her right, while Vyreo—always the protective one—stood behind his wife. Corren sat at Rhyaenna’s left side since as the son of the reigning Prince of Dorne, he held one of the most powerful titles in Westeros. Yara and her daughter then took their seats next to Vyreo, although their hands were on their swords.

For a moment no one said anything.

The Lord of Westeros passes nervous glances at the other, unwilling and unsure what to say. Tyrion was supposed to be their leader, he was the Hand of the King after all, yet even he was silent.

Lord Edmure, decided to take the matter of introductions upon himself, as after all, he was the eldest Lord on their side of the platform. Standing up, Lord Edmure cleared his throat and faced Rhyaenna.

“Lady Rhyaenna,” Lord Edmure said. “Allow me to introduce…”

Rhyaenna held up her hand. “Please my lord, allow me to stop you right there. I have neither the desire nor patience to listen to you speak.” She looked past him at Tyrion. “The Imp, on the other hand, should be doing his duty. He is the Hand to the Usurper, after all.”

Lord Edmure quickly sat down, shutting his mouth as all eyes turned to Tyrion in this uncomfortable exchange.

Tyrion knew he wasn’t going to get out of the meeting of his nightmares, so, he forced himself to slide down from his chair and stand before Rhyaenna.

“My Lady…” Tyrion began.

“Your Grace,” Rhyaenna interrupted. “As the Princess of Meereen and rightful Queen of Westeros, you should address me as ‘Your Grace’.”

“Westeros already has a King… Your Grace,” Tyrion forced himself to say, although he intended to only recognize her title as Princess of Meereen. “And His Grace, King Bran is a good King.”

“A good king…” Rhyaenna repeated, her lips curving into a sarcastic smile. “He was such a good king, that he saw thousands of innocent people die and did nothing about it.”

Tyrion swallowed the lump in his throat. “Those people died at the hands of your Mother, in case you had forgotten.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten anything,” Rhyaenna replied. “My Mother has told me everything about what happened. Like how Westeros was dead set against her from the beginning. How the North, even though it bent the knee to my Father, refused to bend the knee to its rightful queen; even after she lost half her army and two of her dragons. Like how you, My Lord, betrayed her in virtually every step to save your Sister; the same sister who has tried to kill you so many times you’d lost count.”

“Cersei was still my family,” Tyrion snapped, choking on the emotions long since buried. “Jaime was my family. And your Mother killed them both.”

“Just as you killed your father,” Rhyaenna retorted. “It seems your loyalty to your family is as flexible as reeds in the wind.”

For the first time in his life, Tyrion was at a loss for words. No one had ever been able to flip his own words back at him before. It stung even worse than it was the daughter of Daenerys.

“Our King has already told me that you are who you say you are,” Tyrion said, struggling to keep his composure. “What do you want?”

Rhyaenna smirked. “I want, what is mine by right and what I was born to be: the Throne of Westeros and to be its Queen.”

* * *

 

“The Iron Throne is not here, anymore,” Tyrion said, glancing up at the skies. “Drogon burned it…”

“Thrones can easily be made,” Rhyaenna replied. “Just as easily as they can be undone. But I mean what I say, I will take Westeros to wither you want me too or not. I have the army and I have the dragons, although I do not wish to set my land ablaze. Bend the knee, and you will become Lord Paramount’s while keeping your lands and titles. Refuse, and I shall rain Fire and Blood until you and your name is nothing but ash.”

“Ultimatums…” Lord Edmure grumbled loudly. “Just like the Mad Queen.”

Daenerys flinched and Vyreo’s hand went to his sword, but Rhyaenna shook her head to her lover.

“Is that not what life is, my lord? Ultimatums?” Rhyaenna asked. “I give you all a fair offer.”

Tyrion looked to Daenerys, attempting to make a plea with her. “Y-Your Grace,” he stammered, swallowing his pride. “Your will destroy Westeros with this… did you not learn the last time you brought Outsiders to Westeros?”

Daenerys arched an eyebrow. “I am not doing anything, Lord Tyrion. I serve as an advisor to my Daughter, nothing more, nothing less.”

“And I did not bring Outsiders to Westeros,” Rhyaenna interrupted. “To rule as Queen of Westeros, my army must be made up of Westerosi. I plan to unite the armies, as no House will have its own army anymore. You will serve the throne, thus there shall be one universal army.”

Tyrion hated to admit it to himself, but that was a good idea. It was a way to prevent minor fights among House’s if there was one joint army.

“There are other changes I plan to bring to Westeros,” Rhyaenna continued. “Extensions of my Mother’s work in the Bay of Dragons. The Lords can play their games, that’s the only thing they know how to do. But I plan to work with the Smallfolk, as all there is more of them then there are Lords. For too long they have been under an unrelenting heel of Lords who did not care if they lived or died. My Mother wanted to break the Wheel; I’m going to shatter it.”

Tyrion was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how to counter her, while at the same time he wasn’t sure if he even wanted too. The reforms that she spoke of were life-changing, and he hated that he didn’t think of them himself.

Rhyaenna tapped her foot. “Well, my Lord Tyrion. What will your answer be?”

Tyrion glanced behind her, seeing something that no one else saw. “We will need time to talk amongst ourselves before we give you a final answer.”

Rhyaenna smirked, standing up, the people behind her doing the same. “You have one week, not a day more. Anyone who does not bend the knee, I’ll be paying a personal visit to your Keeps. Good day, my lords.”

Turning around, Rhyaenna began to walk casually away.

The Queen-to-Be was halfway to Aenerys when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

Something was wrong.

Behind her, Tyrion made a motion with his hand, and the assassin hiding behind one of the pillars moved from his secret spot. Pulling the string of his bow back, assassin let go the string, sending the poison-tipped arrow flying straight at Rhyaenna’s heart.

 _‘Watch out!’_ Aenerys roared in Rhyaenna’s mind.

The Young Woman did exactly that, just barely dodging the arrow, watching as it struck against a nearby rock.

No one moved, Tyrion’s blood turned cold as Rhyaenna slowly knelt down and picked up the arrow, looking at the tip.

“I might now have been fully truthful when I said that I was only the daughter of Daenerys and Jon Snow,” Rhyaenna said coolly. “You see, I have a special connection with my dragons, I can enter their minds and they can do the same with me.”

“You’re… You’re a warg…” Tyrion choked, watching as Vyreo ran at the Assassin.

Vyreo grabbed the man, yanking him down from his hiding spot and dragging him to Rhyaenna’s feet. Slowly, the Princess knelt in front of the man, cupping his cheek with one hand and driving the arrow into his heart with the other.

“My previous offer has been revoked,” Rhyaenna said, standing up and turning to face the trembling Lords. “The week to accept my offer is no longer valid.” She turned her violet eyes to Tyrion. “ _Valar morghūlis_.”

“A-All Men Must Die,” Tyrion stammered.

“Yes,” Rhyaenna said. “And I am not a man. I am a Dragon, and I am a Wolf. Strike one, Lord Tyrion.”

Without another word, Rhyaenna climbed onto the back of Aenerys and buckled herself into the saddle. She watched as her mother did the same when she mounted Daenae, the two women taking off into the sky.

* * *

 

No sooner had Daenerys and Rhyaenna had gone, did the Lords pounce upon Tyrion at once.

“Of all the foolish ideas!” Lord Edmure raged.

“You couldn’t have picked a better assassin?” Bronn asked, kicking the body of the dead man. “The man fucking missed!”

“How the hell was I supposed to know the girl was a damn Warg?!” Tyrion growled. “No one expects Bran seemed to have the ability!”

“What are we going to do?” Gendry asked. “You heard her, she plans to take Westeros in Fire and Blood if she has too!”

“We need to prepare our armies, that’s what we need to do,” Tyrion said, forcing himself to stay calm. “We all need to gather our armies!”

“But she holds the armies of Dorne!” Bronn pointed out. “The biggest damn army in the kingdom!”

“Then we’ll have to cut it up then,” Tyrion retorted. “It takes six weeks to travel by horse from King’s Landing to say Winterfell. With an army of that size, it might take double that. Maybe triple.”

“But did you forget that she has the Iron Fleet?” Edmure asked. “With them, she can take her armies everywhere.”

“Plus, she controls Blackwater Bay,” Gendry said. “She’s closest to my lands, so I have no doubt that she’ll attack me first.”

“Maybe not,” Tyrion said. “We need to just slow her down, and do everything in our power to prevent her from unleashing those beasts of destruction. That means we must summon all our armies to their proper strength.”

“What about the North?” Brienne asked, speaking for the first time. “What about Queen Sansa?”

“Sansa refused our invitation to come to the Meeting,” Tyrion said. “And she also ignores every other invitation we send to her for events much smaller than this. She had closed off the North, that was her choice.”

“So, you’re saying we abandon her?” Brienne asked, frowning.

“Not… not exactly,” Tyrion said, frowning. “We will send ravens to her, but if she does not reply then that’s her problem. If I’m being honest, I suspect I have an idea where the ‘Young Queen’ will head too first.”

“Has anyone heard from Jon?” Davos asked. “Since… since he was banished…?”

“If anyone heard from him then it would be Sansa,” Tyrion replied. “But I doubt she’d share that news with anyone. Lucky for us, the North doesn’t like outsiders.”

“But she’s the daughter of their White Wolf,” Brienne pointed out. “You saw how she looked, she’s him in the female form. If she gets their support…”

“Then she’ll control the largest region in all of Westeros,” Tyrion finished, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I need to think… I need to figure this all out…”

The following morning all the Lords began to head back to their Keeps, all preparing themselves against the inevitable war.

Inside the Hand of the King, Jaime found his Uncle behind a mountain of paper, no doubt letters to be sent all over Westeros about this Rhyaenna.

“You wanted to see me?” Jaime said.

Tyrion looked up. “Yes, my boy. I’m sending you and your sister to Casterly Rock, it’ll be safer for you there.”

Jaime frowned. “B-But our place here is with our Mother, with You. Joanna will not be happy with us just leaving.”

“Our Seat is under threat,” Tyrion snapped, causing Jaime to flinch as his Uncle had never raised his voice at him before. “Our very lives might be as well. If this girl becomes Queen, do you know what she’d do? She’ll kill every Lannister she can get her hands on, as revenge on what our family did to hers. Then, she’ll wipe out everyone who betrayed her mother, as by extension they betrayed her. No one that we care about will be alive.”

“All the more reason that I need to be at your side,” Jaime protested. “Make me the commander of your armies!”

“You need to be control of the Lannister forces as Casterly Rock,” Tyrion argued back. “And while you are there, I will officially be securing you and your sister’s marriage partners.”

Jaime’s eyebrows shot up. “W-What?”

“We need allegiances,” Tyrion roared, becoming his Father, the one man he’d always loathed. “And the best way to secure them is through marriage! She has married into the most powerful family in Westeros, and into the Bravaaosi royalty! I will not see my hard work turn to ash in my mouth! You will marry the woman that I choose, and Joanna will marry Robert Baratheon once I secure it! Do you understand?!”

Jaime bowed his head. “Y-Yes… My Lord Uncle.”

Tyrion sank into his chair. “You may go…”

Jaimie backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. As the door shut, Tyrion covered his face with his hands and he wept. Everything that he had done, everything that he had accomplished was falling apart before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do about it.

 _‘No,’_ a dark voice whispered in his ear _. ‘You are a Lannister. Lannister’s do not weep for bitches who do not know their place. Your ancestor is Lann the Clever, prove yourself worthy of your legacy.’_


	23. CHAPTER XXII: DEFENDER OF THE DISPOSED

Rhyaenna sighed softly as she tilted her head back, closing her eyes in pleasure as she submerged herself into the bubbling pool of water.

The Queen-to-Be sat in one of the many bathing pools within the castle of Dragonstone, although the one Rhyaenna was in was suited for the royal family. Warmed and fed by the natural hot springs that the castle rested upon, the perfect temperature was fit for a Targaryen. Anyone one else would get boiled alive by the hot waters.

Rhyaenna preferred to bathe in this pool rather than in a wooden tub, filled by her maidservants. There, it would take almost an hour for it to be filled, and by the time it was done the water would be cold. In the Great Pyramid, there were metal pipes that delivered water into the desired chambers and kitchens, in Westeros, there was no such thing.

How Rhyaenna suffered for the four days it took to thoroughly clean Dragonstone and return the Seat of House Targaryen to its former glory. Between the cold baths, drafty chambers, and soggy floors; Rhyaenna felt as if she might go mad. But she pulled through, and now the castle was equal to its grandeur during Aegon’s day.

_‘I hope that I’m doing the right thing,’_ she thought to herself, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them. _‘I want to smash the Wheel… but what if I do something wrong? What if the people I plan to rule hate me? Should I have just stayed in Meereen?’_

Thoughts like this were common for Rhyaenna. Although she put on a brave face against those that opposed her, deep down, Rhyaenna was still a girl. She was nearing her twentieth nameday soon, and it was time that she began to act like an adult.

_‘You are the Blood of the Dragon, you have the strength of a Wolf,’_ her conscience would always say back. _‘The nobles might not like you, but you are not here for them. You are here for the Smallfolk, for the people who suffer the most under the Wheel.’_

“But I also have come to right the wrongs done against me and my Mother,” Rhyaenna said aloud. “Those who hated her before they even knew her or turned Mother’s allies against her.” She took a deep breath. “Sansa Stark. Tyrion Lannister. Brandon Stark. You all have woken the dragon, and I promise Fire and Blood shall be rained down upon you.”

_‘And your Father?’_ Rhyaenna’s subconscious asked.

Rhyaenna nibbled on her lip. She still had mixed feelings about her father, his role in the murder of her mother. The King of the North. The White Wolf. Aegon Targaryen. He had so many titles and names, yet the most sacred name of all Jon did not know he possessed: Father.

_‘If I find him, I shall bring him to Dragonstone and let Mother decide what to do with him,’_ Rhyaenna decided _. ‘He must answer to her, the others shall answer to me.’_

“Copper penny for your thoughts, my love?” Vyreo’s deep voice said.

Rhyaenna looked up, watching as Vyreo closed the door to the bathing pool behind him and entered the room. Her husband was never far from her side, and his worry for her safety had only increased after what Tyrion had done.

_‘To kill someone under the banner of peace is the ultimate form of dishonor,’_ Rhyaenna thought, although she smiled at Vyreo.

“Nothing to concern you with,” Rhyaenna replied, turning herself around so that she could look at him.

Vyreo took off his jacket and laid it across a stone bench, waving her maidservants away so that he could attend to any needs that she might have.

He couldn’t stop the low groan of desire that rumbled in his throat as he gazed upon Rhyaenna’s ethereal beauty, the girl he had loved since he was a boy. Vyreo was always secretly afraid that Queen Daenerys might marry Rhyaenna to another noble to secure some type of alliance. That was why, when he and Rhyaenna were both eighteen, Vyreo was surprised when she allowed him to have her virginity. That night, Rhyaenna declared her love for the Braavosi Lord, and Vyreo swore that no matter where she went, he would be there for her.

Now, look at them.

They had crossed the Narrow Sea together, and now they were going to conquer a kingdom. Yes, there was the matter of Corren and how he had to share Rhyaenna’s bed, but the Dornishman had also grown a bit on Vyreo. Vyreo no longer wants to strangle him, and he did recognize Corren’s worth in legitimizing Rhyaenna’s claim to Westeros.

“You have a letter,” Vyreo said, holding out the small scroll for Rhyaenna to read.

Rhyaenna quickly dried off her hand on a nearby towel and opened it to read.

**To Her Grace, Princess Rhyaenna of the House’s Targaryen and Stark,**

_I, Lady Wylla Manderly bid you welcome to Westeros. House Manderly has fought alongside House Stark for centuries and is duty-bound to serve the North. Yet, we also must serve our rightful sovereign, and that sovereign is neither a Half She-Fish or a boy in a wheelchair who can not father heirs._

_We answered the call to Lord Jon Snow when he needed us to fight against the White Walkers, and now we answer the call to his daughter. I invite you to White Harbor as my honored guest, and hope that we both can come a… understanding for your claim in the North._

_Signed,_

_Lady Wylla of House Manderly_

“What does it say?” Vyreo asked, sitting down next to her.

“Lady Manderly invites me to her castle of White Harbor,” Rhyaenna replied. “If I recall, Corren told me that they are the richest house in the North because of trade.”

Vyreo pressed a light kiss upon her shoulder. “Then, if you got them on your side…”

“I would have all but won the North, if I have their support,” Rhyaenna replied. “But money is not everything, I want to win the people too… my mother told me that the North hates outsiders.”

Vyreo massaged her shoulders before one of his hands slid down to cup her breasts. “Then make them see you as the… Wolf, you know that you are.”

Rhyaenna sighed softly at his touch, her eyelids fluttering closed. “Like the wolf… I am?”

Vyreo smirked, pulling his hand away briefly he rolled up his sleeve. After saying a brief pray to one of the gods of Braavosi for protection against the scalding water, Vyreo put his hand inside. Slowly, he walked his fingers down Rhyaenna’s stomach, tracing mall circles around her navel before he found his target.

“You… are my Dragonwolf,” he whispered in Rhyaenna’s ear, spreading her legs with his hands before his fingers met her core. “My… Queen…”

Rhyaenna sharply inhaled, her eyes tightly shut as she more than willingly spread her thighs for her lover. She gripped the smooth rock with her hands, her hips moving on their own against Vyreo’s cleaver fingers.

“I shall protect you…” Vyreo continued in her ear, moving his fingers slowly, wanting to draw out her pleasure. “And any child that we might have…”

Rhyaenna’s velvet walls felt even hotter than the infernal water in which she bathed, which only increased Vyreo’s desire for her. Her hips were moving as if she was on top of him, moving in the sacred, sensual dance as Vyreo pressed his thumb against her love pearl.

“You shall go North,” Vyreo whispered, hearing her moans melting into soft, breathy cries of pleasure with each stroke of his fingers. “You shall win the people. And you shall become Queen of Westeros.”

* * *

 

The throne room of Winterfell was filled to bursting with Lords of the North, their army commanders, guards, minor pages, servants; and more. Everyone high and low had been summoned by Sansa to stand before their queen and declare their loyalty to Sansa and Sansa alone.

Wylla Manderly was among the lords who had been summoned and possessed the primary seat of honor as the second most powerful person in all the North. The green-haired woman knew the primary reason why she and her army commander had been summoned to Winterfell.

Wars were expensive, and the North was already virtually bankrupt. An independent kingdom should be able to support itself financially,  and the north was not that kingdom.

While most of the Smallfolk within the North were farmers, the practices that they used were continued stone-age compared to the rest of Westeros. Not to mention that it was hard to find freshwater, as there were not many rivers in the North and those that were there were almost always frozen. It was no wonder that the South deemed even the richest Northerners as peasants in their eyes.

The North needed a revolution so that they could grow as people, they needed a leader to help them enter a new age of enlightenment. And that leader was not Sansa Stark.

The doors to the throne room opened, and all the Lords and assembled people stood to their feet as Sansa entered. She walked quietly down the center aisle, before turning around and taking her seat upon her throne.

Wylla tried to not show how sick the sight of Sansa Stark made her, the woman who did not deserve the title of Queen of the North. She had heard the stories, spread by those loyal to Sansa, about how she, and she alone, had taken the North back from the evil people of the South. While her brother ruled the South in name only, Sansa would always exaggerate what Daenerys did, and her wickedness.

“My lords,” Sansa said, clasping her hands in front of her. “I have called you here to discuss a threat that will soon be upon us. Many of you remember the Mad Queen, how she seduced my brother Jon, the King of the North, and tried to use him to take the throne of Westeros. I saw through her charade almost the moment she came to Winterfell, and she rebuffed any advances I made with her for peace. Jon was right in killing her, in getting rid of the great threat against all our lives, as we know she would have killed anyone who got in her way for the throne. For two decades we lived in peace, but now it seems that a Pretender has come forth to try and stir up trouble again.

“This Pretender has married into the traitorous royal House of Dorne and has tricked the Iron Bank in funding their attack on our beloved Westeros. They need to be stopped with all our forces combined.”

Sansa was quite a moment to let her words wash over the people, but… it didn’t have the desired effect.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Wylla said aloud. “But it appears we both recall what happened when Queen Daenerys first came to Winterfell differently.”

Sansa clenched her hands together at the insubordination. “And what… what do you mean by that, Lady Manderly?”

“I recall Jon Snow being happy with the Queen,” Wyalla replied, knowing how it irked Sansa to hear anyone else called a queen other than herself. “In fact, he seemed to love her. He went to the South to bring her armies to the North to help us right the White Walkers, and if it wasn’t for her, and her dragons, then we would have all died.”

Several of the Lords began to murmur in agreement, nodding their heads. As the leader of the wealthiest House in the North, Wylla was as revered as, if not more revered, as Sansa was. Wylla came from an unbroken chain of Northern nobility, Sansa was half Tully.

“I would have you recall, Lady Manderly,” Sansa said, her voice high. “That it was my sister, Arya, who killed the Night King.”

“And if it wasn’t for Queen Daenerys, then we wouldn’t have had the men to hold him off for her to do so,” Wylla countered. “And you claim this girl from the South is a pretender. Yet I have heard, from reliable sources, that Lord Tyrion and even your brother the King, says that she is who she claims to be.”

The throne room exploded into chaos. Lords and Ladies all shouting at once, verbally fighting against each other so that they could be heard. This had not been shared with anyone outside of King’s Landing, and Wylla knew what she was doing in dropping this bomb. Everyone knew of Bran, they knew of his powers if Bran believed that this Girl was the daughter of Daenerys and Jon, then who were they to say otherwise?

Sansa leaps to her feet, almost knocking her throne backward. “For you to say such things means that either you or members of your Household went to King’s Landing against my clear instructions not too. For you to do so is a clear act of treason!”

Wylla stayed calm. “I did no such thing, Your Grace. One of my Page’s has family in King’s Landing, and he so happened to be there at the time of this ‘great meeting’. According to him, he heard that the girl had dragons. According to him, he heard that even King Bran say that this girl was who she claimed to be.”

“But the Mad Queen was dead!” A random Northern Lord shouted. “King Jon killed her!”

Wylla shrugged, tapping her chin as if to think. “We can not pretend, my Lords, that magic does not exist in this world. For all we know, the Black Dread took Queen Daenerys to a land where she could be brought back to life, and she bore her and Jon’s child.”

“Even if that is true, the child would be a bastard,” Sansa hissed. “The Mad Queen and Jon were not married!”

“Her mother is a Queen,” Wylla said casually. “It is nothing for her to legitimize her own child.”

Sansa’s fists were balled up so tightly she felt her nails bite into her palms. “Do we have House Manderly’s support in the war against the Pretender, or not?”

Wylla stood to her feet. “I shall fight for my rightful Queen,” she said, bowing deeply before sweeping out of the room.

_‘And that queen will never be you, Sansa Stark.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Because of the stress of life and work I am going to have to be slower with my updates. Instead of posting 2, somethings 3 times a week, I'm going to have to limit my posts to most likely 2 times a month. These chapters though will be must longer to accommodate you all for the long wait. 
> 
> That being said, I'm going to try something new that I hope will get you more engaged with me, as I love to hear what you guys think of my work. Hearing from you guys, and seeing what you think, drives me more to write and give you more/better chapters. 
> 
> So, if I can get 10 comments from you all, on what you think so far of the chapter, then that'll make me so happy! If I get 10 chapters then I will post the chapter of Rhy finally stepping foot into the North later this week, rather than mid-July, as it's scheduled. 
> 
> BTW: This new schedule goes into effect the 1st of July, and will be posting new chapters the 2nd and 4th Friday of every month.
> 
> LOVE YA!!


	24. CHAPTER XXIII: THE NORTHERN KINGDOM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> We reached OVER 10 comments and I'm a woman of my word! Behold, I give you the nice long chapter of when Rhy arrives in White Harbor the key city of the North. Funny thing is, White Harbor is the only CITY in the North, as it's the only settlement large enough to be called a city, the rest of the North has towns or villages.

The citizens of the city of White Harbor crowded among the sides of the pier and against the city walls as a fleet of Targaryen ships dropped anchor at the docs. The ships were only a half a in number, yet looked large enough to hold about fifty people each inside. One by one the gangplanks were dropped and soldiers wearing matching light armor that bore the combined sigils of House Targaryen and Stark disembarked.

The Smallfolk all whispered and murmured among themselves, watching with mixed expressions as the small army marched past them. Finally, the last gangplank was dropped and Rhyaenna appeared on top of a silver-colored mare. Carefully, the horse was led down and onto the pier, the sight of the Targaryen claimant to the throne of Westeros stirred the people.

It was no secret within the city that their liege lord supported this girl who did not appear to have been on this earth much longer than two decades. House Manderly always served the rightful ruler of Westeros, and that ruler was not Bran or any of the scheming Starks.

The Smallfolk pressed closer against the walls and barriers, all fighting to look at the young, Rhyaenna Targaryen.

“You look beautiful my dear, as always,” Corren said, his stallion appearing next to Rhyaenna’s mare.

Rhyaenna indeed looked beautiful, there was no denying it. The Princess was dressed in a heavy woolen black dress with red trim, signifying her Targaryen blood. However, over that dress was a grey woolen jacket lined with leather on the inside. Around the neck and sleeves were soft, yet think and glossy furs that only a member of Nobility could have; knowing among the North as Stark furs.

Learning from her mother, Rhyaenna used her clothing to make her statements known: in the South, she might desire to rule as a Targaryen but here, in the North, she was the heir to House Stark.

Corren was at her side in similar, sandy-brown furs, although his outfit wasn’t as posh or flamboyant as his wife’s. He was merely a King Consort, an advisor, and had no claim upon the North.

The trip from Dragonstone to White Harbor had taken them a month by ship, although Rhyaenna had remarked it would have taken a fraction of the time if they had gone by dragon back. Yet, Corren was terrified of heights, and neither of them wanted to almost three-month march through the Crownlands where they could easily be picked off by Tyrion’s armies. So, they went by boat, as Yara had secured them safe passage.

Vyreo however, was not pleased in having to stay behind at Dragonstone. Rhyaenna had to explain to her husband that since Corren was born and raised in Westeros, it would look better for him to be at her side at the moments. Besides, she was leaving most of her army on the island, and she only trusted Vyreo to train them. At the same time, Daenerys was still on the island, and Rhyaenna needed her mother to be protected.

The night before she left, Rhyaenna made sure to take Vyreo to her bed and promised that he would have her once she returned. Both sets of news made Vyreo very happy.

Now, the Princess sat on top of a horse, gazing out at the land that was where her Father called home.

‘I wonder if he’s still alive,’ Rhyaenna thought to herself. ‘Where he is? Does he even miss Mother?’

Daenerys had hugged her only child tightly and made Rhyaenna promise that she would come back to her. Neither of them knew what to say about the possibility of Jon being alive, but then again the man had been missing for twenty years so it seemed likely that he had passed.

A Knight dressed in the House Manderly colors rode up to Rhyaenna and Corren, quickly bowing deeply at the waist before the two royals.

“Your Grace,” the Knight said to Rhyaenna, then turned to Corren. “My Lord. Lady Wylla Manderly welcomes you to White Harbor. She and her family await you in New Castle, her family’s seat.”

“Lady Manderly has my eternal gratitude,” Rhyaenna said formally. “And I can not wait to meet her.”

The Knight bowed again and swung his horse around, his small garrison of soldiers melting in with Rhyaenna’s own as he leads her into the city.

Rhyaenna snuck glances at the people lining the streets, at their faces. She remembered her mother telling her how the people of Wintertown glared at her, furious almost that a Targaryen would dare come to their land. Yet the people here didn’t look angry, they looked… curious. They were whispering among themselves, pointing at Rhyaenna’s face or the direwolf face on the shields of her soldiers.

“White Wolf!” a man suddenly yelled out.

“White She-Wolf!” a woman yelled out.

“White She-Wolf!” the Smallfolk began to chant. “White She-Wolf!”

Rhyaenna looked to Corren, the former confused. “I don’t understand what they mean.”

“The White Wolf was the name they gave your Father,” Corren explained. “Just as they called Robb Stark the Young Wolf, after his father, Eddard Stark.”

“So… It’s a compliment…” Rhyaenna said, turning back to the people.

“White She-Wolf!” the Smallfolk continued to chant. “White She-Wolf. White She-Wolf!”

“Yes, it appears so,” Corren said, giving her a small smile. “It also strengthens your claim. Sansa Stark looks like a Tully, a person of the South. You, you look like a proper Northern Lady and you’re Father’s daughter.”

* * *

 

The doors to New Castle were opened, a carpet of winter flowers covered the ground and led into what was known as the Merman’s Court. It was the Great Hall of the castle, where House Manderly held court as well as its feasts. Stepping inside the room Rhyaenna looked around, amazed at what she saw.

The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of wooden planks notched cunningly together and decorated with all the creatures of the sea. At one end was the entrance, at the other was a dais where there was a large cushioned throne. The floor had painted crabs and clams and starfish, half-hidden amongst twisting black fronds of seaweed and the bones of drowned sailors.

On the walls were pale sharks prowling painted blue-green depths, whilst eels and octopods slithered amongst rocks and sunken ships. Shoals of herring and great codfish swam between the tall, arched windows. Higher up, near where the old fishing nets droop down from the rafters, the surface of the sea was depicted. To the right a war galley rested serenely against the rising sun; to the left, a battered old cog races before a storm, her sails in rags. Behind the dais, a Kraken and grey leviathan were locked in battle beneath the painted waves.

All around were minor lords and ladies that were sworn to House Manderly, as well as the surrounding areas. Standing on the dais was a woman with hair dyed sea green, although her grey eyebrows spoke of her elderly state. At her right was a tall, striking man, and to her left were three children of various ages with the eldest being a girl and the youngest being a boy.

“Presenting the Lady Wylla Manderly and her husband, Lord Thomas Blackwood,” the herald announced.

Wylla crossed her room at a rapid pace, dropping to her knees in front of Rhyaenna before the Princess could be presented. “Your Grace,” Wylla said. “I am not worthy to stand before you.”

“On the contrary, Lady Manderly,” Rhyaenna said, holding out her hand so that the elderly woman could stand. “You have been an ally to me while others have yet to swear their allegiance.”

Wyalla stood to her feet and stared into the violet eyes of this young girl.

In her youth, Wylla had seen the Starks, she had personally seen Jon Snow during the Battle of Winterfell against the armies of the dead. So, she knew what he looked like, and the girl that stood in front of Wylla was indeed his daughter. From the curve of Rhyaenna’s mouth to the shape of her nose, even the shade of her dark hair; all confirmed that she was the daughter of the White Wolf.

‘Everything is Jon Snow,’ Wylla thought. ‘Except for her eyes. Those are the infamous Targaryen eyes. Those are the eyes of Aegon the Conqueror.’

‘Please, allow me to introduce my husband, Lord Thomas Blackwood,” Wylla said, nodding to the man to her side.

Thomas stepped forward and bowed deeply before Rhyaenna, then stepped back so that Wylla could introduce their children. The eldest was Dyana, the middle was Darna, and the youngest was Davis. All three bowed deeply before Rhyaenna and Corren just like their parents.

“The honor is mine,” Rhyaenna said. “I hope that my visit is not an importune time for you.”

“It is never an importune time to host the household of the Queen of Westeros,” Wylla said cleverly.

There. She had done it. By titling Rhyaenna as the Queen of Westeros, Wylla had just declared her loyalty. The assembled lords and ladies knew who their liege lord supported, and it wasn’t Sansa Stark or her brother the King.

“Just a portion of my household,” Rhyaenna replied, keeping the conversation light. “But please, allow me to introduce my husband, Lord Corren of House Yronwood.”

“An honor, my lord,” Wylla said to Corren. “Although I heard that you have another husband?”

“Vyreo is back at Dragonstone, protecting my mother and readying my armies for the war no doubt that is on the horizon,” Rhyaenna said.

“A war in which House Manderly will fight alongside you, if need be,” Wylla proclaimed.

“As will House Blackwood,” Thomas said, giving his queen a small nod.

“A feast has been prepared, to celebrate your arrival,” Wylla said. “My daughter Dyana will show you to your chambers.”

Dyana stepped forward and bowed again. “Follow me please, Your Grace and my Lord.”

The chamber given to Rhyaenna and Corren was known as the Sealords Chamber, and was where Wylla and her husband had slept, although the two had temporarily moved out for the visit. Everything had been scrubbed and washed until it gleamed, new linins placed upon the Merman’s Bed, and a mountain of wood piled next to the fireplace.

“Would you need anything of me, Your Grace?” Dyana asked, nervously fiddling with her dress.

“A tour of the castle would be ideals,” Rhyaenna said, before turning to Corren. “My love, can you oversee the setting up of our rooms?”

“Of course,” Corren said, kissing her cheek before turning to command their army of servants.

Besides their small army that Rhyaenna had brought, there were also cooks, handmaids, body servants, pages, Chamberlains, Keepers of the Books, Keepers of the Horses; and more. All of which wore clothes in the combined Targaryen and Stark colors.

Dyana nodded and stepped aside, letting Rhyaenna take a step forward before following behind her. However, Rhyaenna slowed her pace so that the two young women could walk side by side, and she looked at Dyana out of the corner of her eye.

The young Manderly Lady possessed the same green hair as her mother—although Rhyaenna knew that it was dyed—along with her father’s eyes. Dyana also was tall like her father, with his long fingers and neck, as well as being quite like him. The two young women walked in silence for a couple of moments before Rhyaenna broke it.

“How old are you, my Lady?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Twenty-one, Your Grace,” Dyana replied.

“So, you are older than me by about… two years,” Rhyaenna said.

Dyana’s eyebrows shot up in amazement. “How old are you, Your Grace?”

Rhyaenna smiled. “I will be celebrating my twentieth nameday in the next couple of days.”

“Can we celebrate it here?” Dyana asked, suddenly excited. “My mother will be thrilled! She will be able to brag for eternity that she celebrated the nameday of a Queen under her roof.”

Rhyaenna nodded. “I don’t see why not. I plan to stay here in the North for a while anyway.”

“To meet with Queen Sansa?” Dyana asked, then she bit her lip. “I… I mean, Lady Stark? You’re the proper Queen of the North.”

“It’s alright,” Rhyaenna said, putting a soft hand on Dyana’s shoulder. “And yes, I want to meet with Lady Sansa.”

“Mother says that Lady Stark refuses to meet with anyone associated with you,” Dyana said. “She claims you are a… a…”

“A bastard, I am sure she says,” Rhyaenna said, rolling her eyes. “And that I am also an imposter. She can’t have it both ways: either I’m an imposter or I’m a bastard.”

“Mother says that Lady Stark is not… all the way sane in the mind,” Dyana said, shrugging. “That is why she can not stand her. Not only that, but Mother said that Lady Stark is holding everyone back, not allowing the North to evolve as the South has in farming and trade.”

“I have heard such things as well,” Rhyaenna replied. “And that is another reason why I am here. My husband and I have brought building sketches and books from Meereen and Braavos, to help you all. The ruler of Westeros is supposed to be the Shield of their People, and that is what I want to be.”

Dyana couldn’t stop the small smile that spread on her face. This Rhyaenna Targaryen was not at all how she thought that she would be. Dyana feared the embodiment of the Mad Queen if someone who would come to Westeros and demand that they crown her. Instead, she seemed humble, someone who really did want to help the Smallfolk.

“What is that you want, Dyana?” Rhyaenna asked.

Dyana looked up. “W-What do you mean?”

“If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?” Rhyaenna asked.

Dyana glanced behind them then back to her queen. “I would want my mother to be proud of me. Although I the eldest and her chosen heir, I’m more like my father; quiet, gentle… soft in her eyes. I love to read books and learn, something that my father values.”

“And your mother does not?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Oh no, she values learning,” Dyana said. “But she has pushed, ever since Lady Stark crowned herself Queen of the North, that I will be the rightful heir… until you came that is.”

“Why would she want you to be the heir of Sansa?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Lady Stark has not taken a husband since she was crowned, and she is far past the years of bearing a healthy child,” Dyana replied. “Not only that but even if she was of the right age, no one would marry her. Her first husband was Tyrion Lannister and her second was Ramsey Bolton, the latter of whom she had eaten by his dogs. Men would fear to be in her bed.”

Rhyaenna nodded, listening, an idea form in her head. “Are you engaged, Dyana?”

Dyana nodded, her face melted into a dreamy smile. “Yes, I am. His name is Cley Cerwyn, the heir of his House. House Cerwyn is quite close to House Stark you see, and is known as their most loyal supporter.”

“And I’m guessing that’s why your mother secured your marriage to the young Lord?” Rhyaenna asked.

Dyana nodded again. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“And this Cley, you love him?”

“Oh yes, Your Grace,” Dyana said, her face flushing pink. “He is quite the gentleman and treats me with the highest of respect. Love matches are rare with people within our rank.”

“I agree,” Rhyaenna said, the idea fully formed in her head. “I agree…”

* * *

 

The Merman’s Court was filled to almost bursting with the minor nobles of White Harbor, as well as surrounding lords who had been invited by Wylla for the feast. It was called the Queen’s Feast, and in the center of it all, sitting at the highest seat of honor, was Rhyaenna herself.

Rhyaenna was dressed in a silver silken dress with an underskirt of rich grey. The dress was a whisper upon the cloth whenever she moved and possessed long sleeves that hid the knife strapped to her forearm for protection. Rather than wear her hair in the elaborate curls or small braids that Rhyaenna normally had in Meereen, under the help of Dyana, the Princess had her hair simply pulled back with a single thick braid that reached her waist. Lastly, a silver wolf pin was the only animate in her hair. In this simple, yet elegant appearance, Rhyaenna was declaring to all that saw her that she was of the North, its rightful Queen, and none shall doubt her paternity.

To Rhyaenna’s right sat Corren, and her to left sat Wylla, as the host of this feast. There was singing, there was laughing, the wine flowed freely, and the smell of roasted meats was piled high on all plates.

Rhyaenna knew better than to sit aloof, and interacted with the people that she was to rule. She laughed along with them, handed out small bags of coins to every Lord or Lady in attendance, and clapped her hands along with the songs that were sung. It was warm, it was intimate, and it was heart-filling; something that Rhyaenna wanted all of Westeros to feel. She watched as Cley and Dyana flirted, clearly a couple in love. Standing to her feet, Rhyaenna clapped her hands for attention, watching as the Great Hall quickly grew silent.

“My Lords, my Ladies, thank you for having me here,” Rhyaenna began. “I can not deny the warmth my heart has, seeing all of this love and support. For those of you who do not know me, nor believe in my claims, allow me to introduce myself. I am Rhyaenna Targaryen, daughter of Queen Daenerys and Jon Snow; known to you as the White Wolf. As the only heir of House Targaryen, I plan to take my birthright which is the throne of Westeros, but I do not want to leave a river of blood in my wake.

“When my Mother first came to Westeros she wanted to break the wheel; I want to smash it. Under my reign, no longer will the weak suffer under the throat of oppressors. I bring with me, knowledge from the East on how to improve the way of life of everyone in Westeros, for both noble and poor alike. I can not excuse the tragedy of the past, but blood feuds must cease, we can not keep looking at previous mistakes. Together, I believe we can heal Westeros and turn it into the kingdom that I should be.”

Thunderous applause erupted from the assembled crowd, the lords and ladies clapping and cheering for Rhyaenna and her speech.

Rhyaenna held up her hand again for silence, the order was quickly followed. “I do not wish to drown the North in blood,” she continued. “But I will not back down from fighting for my birthright. All of Westeros will be unified under a single banner, a banner that will fly from the tops of all the castles in the realm. As the daughter of Jon Snow, the North is apart of me, just as the South is. I ask you, my lords, to not judge me for what you might have heard or what others have claimed; but judge me for me and my actions.

“Tomorrow, with the support of Lady Manderly, I will hold court. I will hear all your petitions and give you my Queen’s Judgement. Nothing is so small a matter for me to hear.”

The Lords and Ladies all murmured in agreement and nodded, clearly growing excited.

“That is not all,” Rhyaenna said. “But I have come to a decision on a difficult matter. Sansa Stark and Bran are the last of their House’s, there is no heir to one of the most ancient of House’s in the realm; except through me. However, I can not be in two places at once.” She turned to Dyana. “Lady Dyana, might stand please?”

Dyana looked around nervously, her legs trembling as she forced herself to rise from her seat and walk to stand in front of her queen. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“I have learned that you are promised to the young Cley Cerwyn,” Rhyaenna said. “A House loyal to House Stark virtually since its founding. You both are true Northerner’s, down to your bones. As the rightful Queen of Westeros, I am naming you and your husband as Guardians of Winterfell. I am not with child right now, but I decree that once I have borne a child of my body and they are of age, they shall take the name Stark and be named the Warden of the North. I also ask, respectfully, for the hand of your eldest child, son or daughter; in marriage to mine.”

Dyana’s face had gone as pale as milk, listening to Rhyaenna talk. The Princess was naming both she and Cley was Guardians of Winterfell. The Princess was naming both she and Cley as the Protectors of the child that Rhyaenna would bear and take the name as Stark. The Princess was asking for the hand of whatever firstborn that Dyana would bare as a spouse for her own children. Dyana’s child would be marrying into royalty!

“Y-Your Grace,” Dyana stammered. “I do not… I do not know what to say.”

Dyana felt a warm hand press into her own, and when she turned, she saw Cley standing at her side, having silently rose from his chair to stand by her side and give her support.

“I accept, Your Grace’s offer,” Cley said, looking deeply into Dyana’s eyes. “If my betrothed agrees as well.”

Dyana felt as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs, but when she snuck a glance at her mother’s face all she saw was pride. It was the one thing that Dyana had wanted all her life.

Taking a deep breath, Dyana dropped to one knee, bowing her head. “I am Your Grace’s loyal and humble servant. I accept Your offer, and pray to the gods that I am worthy of your trust.”

Once again thunderous applause and cheering erupted in the Great Hall, men beating their fists against the tables.

“White She-Wolf!” a man yelled.

“The rightful Queen of the North!” a woman cheered.

“White She-Wolf!” the crowd began to chant. “White She-Wolf! White She-Wolf! White She-Wolf!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see if we can get to 15 comments this time guys! I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter!
> 
> Next time, Rhy begins to hold court for the FIRST TIME EVER!! That's right! Our Princess has sat and watched her mother hold court in Meereen, but she's never held court herself. Sansa isn't going to be happy to hear that!
> 
> Also, did any of you guys catch the mention of Rhy talking about a baby? Could our little Queen be catching baby-making fever? So good that Corren is there to accommodate her..... ;)
> 
> Always make sure to subscribe/bookmark to be the first to read new chapters!


	25. CHAPTER XXIV: THE WHITE SHE-WOLF

“Finished Your Grace,” the Northern Handmaid sent by Dyana said, taking a step back from Rhyaenna. “Please, tell me what you think.”

Rhyaenna peered into the mirror that rested in front of the vanity, inspecting the young woman’s handiwork that had taken an hour. She had braided Rhyaenna’s hair in the Northern style, leaving most of it loose, while in the back it was braided and bunched together to give the appearance of a rose.

‘Winter roses,’ Rhyaenna thought to herself. ‘My father’s mother was said to love the scent of winter roses. I wonder what she looked like, what she would think of me?’

“I love it,” Rhyaenna said, smiling at the young Handmaiden. “Thank you so much.”

The Young Woman bowed. “I live to please my Queen.”

The hair was the last thing that Rhyaenna needed to complete her look, as she stood up to look at herself in the mirror. Rather than be dressed in the formal silks and satins that Rhyaenna had worn the night before, the Princess was now dressed rather simply. Her dress was made of thick black woolen cloth, with silver embroidery that flicked when she moved. A thick leather belt was wrapped around her waist, pushing up her breasts and secured with a silver buckle in the form of a howling wolf; signifying her Stark blood.

After surviving the assassination attempt by Tyrion, Rhyaenna felt as if she now had earned the right to wear her hair officially in braids. In the past, Rhyaenna had worse loose braids or small braids, as Daenerys had told her of the legends of the fierce Dothraki.

They were warriors who learned how to ride horses before they learned how to walk. They followed the strength, and in her youth, Daenerys was wedded to their strongest Khal. When he died, Daenerys brought the Dothraki to Westeros to help her claim her throne. The jahq, a warrior’s braid, was the ultimate symbol of Dothraki and regality; with they believe that the longer the braid the greater the warrior. When it was cut off, it was their greatest shame.

In Meereen, Daenerys did not wear her hair in braids and instead kept it loose or bound in golden bands. She was not worthy of a braid, she believed, yet she passed on the knowledge to her daughter; the heiress of the world’s greatest warrior kingdoms.

Rhyaenna’s hair was pulled out of her face, with half of it being braided and bound into the same of a blooming rose, while the other half was loose and cascaded down her back like a black wave. Two smaller braids rested over Rhyaenna’s shoulders and in the center of the ‘rose braid’ was a purple flower, the color the mixture of red and icy-blue: fire and ice.

“What do you think?” Rhyaenna asked Corren.

Corren looked her over and uttered a low groan of desire. “I think… I think I’m glad that I’m the one here with you.”

Rhyaenna couldn’t stop the light giggle that bubbled in her throat when Corren wrapped his arms around her, pressing a gentle kiss upon her lips.

“Later…,” she whispered. “You shall have me…”

“I’ll hold you up to that promise,” Corren whispered back, dropping his hands when he saw how pink-faced the Handmaiden had become.

Lead by the Handmaiden, Rhyaenna walked down the halls of New Castle, the assembled Lords and Ladies quickly moving out of the way. The doors to the Merman’s Court were open wide, and Rhyaenna could see that it was suffocating full of people.

_‘You are the Blood of the Dragon,’_ Rhyaenna told herself, her head held high. _‘You are the Blood of the Dragon.’_

“Make way for Her Grace!” the Herald shouted. “Make way for Her Grace!”

The MerThrone, the seat in which all Manderly’s sat to hold court, was empty. It would be where Rhyaenna would sit today. The wood was white, and carved into figurines of fish and other sea creatures; with thick padding being made of ocean-green satin.

Slowly, Rhyaenna approached the throne, and for a moment all time stopped. For a moment this was the newly made Throne of Westeros, a throne that belongs to her and her alone.

_‘I will get it,’_ Rhyaenna thought _. ‘And those that took it away shall pay.’_

Turning around gracefully, Rhyaenna sat down upon the MerThrone and crossed her legs, straightening her back. While she did not wear a crown, the young woman looked every inch a queen.

Dyana and her mother appeared, taking smaller chairs at Rhyaenna’s left, while Corren took the seat upon her right. A Herald in Manderly livery stepped forward and banged his staff upon the ground.

“By order of Princess Rhyaenna, of House Targaryen and Stark, I declare this session of Court to begin.”

* * *

 

Rhyaenna had seen her mother hold court plenty of times in Meereen. As the Crown Princess, Rhyaenna was expected to sit in on the meetings and watch the etiquette that was expected of her. Now, in White Harbor, she would do the same thing.

Yet this wasn’t Meereen. This was the North, a section of the kingdom that had been mostly isolated since it’s founding. It thought that South viewed it as weak, inferior; and that was something that Rhyaenna wanted to change.

“What is the first matter of business, Lady Wylla?” Rhyaenna asked.

“For the past twenty years, several castles and keeps that used to belong to House’s founded since the Age of Heroes has been vacated, Your Grace,” Wylla replied. “Lady Sansa has refused to do anything with them. Without guidance, these lands and territories are now with outlaw and order, and the Smallfolk that live there are frightened.”

Rhyaenna nodded. “I see. Is there anyone here who can speak on one of the lands or territories? Someone who might desire to claim them?”

“Aye would, yer Grace,” a gruff voice said.

The posh Lord and Ladies all parted as a man dressed in thick furs pushed his way forward. His beard was neither oiled or combed, and it was much thicker and longer than any man’s Rhyaenna had seen before. He didn’t bow to her, as was required, but Rhyaenna let it slight.

“And you are you, my lord, to claim them?” Rhyaenna asked.

The Man crossed his arms. “The names’ Steigr Bearhart and I wish to claim Bear Island.”

“You savages have no such claim to the land!” a random Lord hissed.

“Ya want ta say tha ta me face?” Steigr growled at the Northern Lord, before turning back to Rhyaenna.

Rhyaenna leaned close to Wylla. “Who is this man? More importantly what is he?”

“He’s a Free Folk, Your Grace,” Wylla whispered. “People who live Beyond the Wall. They came south of the Wall to help us against the Army of the Dead. House Mormont used to control Bear Island, but their last living heirs: Lyanna and Jorah, both were slain in the Battle of Winterfell. Twenty years ago, your… your Father led the remaining Free Folk back over the border, to find a new settlement to call home. I heard rumors that some stayed…”

“And we ‘ave laid claim to ya Bear Island,” Steigr interrupted. “For the last twenty years, my people and eye have lived there, peacefully. But ya Kneelers keep tryin’ to slaughter us. Aye have traveled a long way, to meet ya, ya Grace.”

“Why did you not go first to Lady Sansa?” Rhyaenna asked, curious.

“Tha Wolf Woman wants nothin’ ta do with us Free Folk,” Steigr snorted. “She ignores us.”

“And so, you wanted to take your chance with me,” Rhyaenna said, nodding slowly. “I see. Tell me, what good have you done for Bear Island, since it has been uninhabited?”

“We ‘ave settled into tha… Kneeler life,” Steigr replied. “The ground is good for workin’, the woods good for huntin’.”

“And do you raid the neighboring coastline?” Wylla asked.

Steigr shook his head. “No, we ‘aven’t. King Crow outlawed raiding, we respect his laws.”

Rhyaenna couldn’t stop the flip of her heart in her chest. “King Crow?” she stammered. “Do you mean… Jon Snow?”

Steigr nodded. “Ya, that’s tha name.”

“When did you see him last? Is he alive? Where might he be?” Rhyaenna rambled like an excited child.

Corren chuckled softly, placing his hand on Rhyaenna’s knee. “What my wife means is, do you have any current information about Jon Snow, Lord Steigr? Do you know if he is alive?”

Steigr tapped his chin, frowning as he thought. “Last I ‘eard of him, King Crow was travelin’ to the various clans that stayed in yer South. Making sure they had all they be needin’.”

Rhyaenna tried to hold her excitement in. Her father was alive… he was alive! How her mother would rejoice in this, but… after the excitement came to the anger. He was alive, which meant he still carried the blood of her mother on his hands.

“Thank you, Lord Steigr,” Rhyaenna said. “You’ve been very helpful. Is there anyone that can vouch for you, in your aid to Bear Island?”

“I-I can, Your Grace,” a small squeak of a woman said, the crowd-pulling apart to reveal a young woman.

“And you are?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Sanya Stoneworth, Y-Your Grace,” the young woman said, giving an awkward curtsy. “My family served as stewards for House Mormont, all our days Your Grace. Lord Steigr speaks the truth when he says that he had neither raided nor pillaged our lands. Instead, they helped us. Many women and children were left alone, after the Battle of Winterfell. The Free Folk came and protected us, helped us during times of harvest, some even married our women and made families.”

Several members of the court murmured their approval.

“It shouldn’t excuse their past crimes against us!” a Northern Lord shouted.

Rhyaenna held up her hand for silence. “My father must have seen a light inside the hearts of the Free Folk, or he would not have brought them past their territory in the first place. We can not keep on looking to the past, holding onto grudges or feuds that should have long since been settled. It is by royal decree that I, Rhyaenna of the Houses Targaryen and Stark, gift Bear Island to Lord Steigr Bearhart, and his people. As long as he keeps the Queen’s Peace, then his people shall settle the land and build for themselves a lively hood.”

Stegir’s face lit up and finally, he knelt before the young woman before him. “Thank ya, Yer Grace.”

Rhyaenna looked to Corren and nodded, the young Dornishman standing up and walking to a servant, and took a small box that was being held.

“Inside this box, you will five hundred gold dragons, one-thousand silver wolves, and ten thousand copper pennies,” Rhyaenna said. “It’s not much, but it’s enough to found a new House of Westeros. Please accept this gift, my lord.”

Stegir almost dropped the box that Corren held out to him. “T-Thank ya, Yer Grace.”

“Do you pledge yourself, your House and your swords to me and the Kingdom of Westeros?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Yes, Yer Grace,” Stegir said firmly. “Any daughter of King Crow is my Queen until my dyin’ day.”

“Arise then, Lord Stegir of House Bearthart of Bear Island,” Rhyaenna proclaimed.

“House Bearhart!” a Northern Lord shouted.

“House Bearhart!” the chant began. “House Bearhart. House Bearhart!”

* * *

 

As all queens should, Sansa had spies all through our her kingdom, and House Manderly was no different. It was a singular spy, someone Sansa knew could be easily disposed of off if the time came for it.

After Rhyaenna held court for the first time, the Young Man sent a raven to Sansa of all that had happened.

A Free Folk Clan leader had been given Bear Island to found a new House and legacy.

The Dreadfort had been given to a minor banner that once served under the Bolton’s but didn’t have their bloodthirsty reputation. The same went for Karhold that once was held by House Karstark and Last Harth that was once held by House Umber.

By giving these castles, titles, and lands away, Rhyaenna was fencing Sansa in. Rhyaenna was securing allegiances that would block Sansa in if the woman tried to flee or find refuge in her banners.

But the last set of news what was infuriated Sansa the most.

Rhyaenna had declared herself the sole, true heir of House Stark. She claimed Winterfell as her own. She appointed Manderly’s like the Guardian of the castle until she bore a child who then would take the name Stark. Everything that Sansa had worked for was going to crumble in front of her, a Targaryen was coming to steal her home.

Sansa had to figure something to do, and she had to figure it out fast. Picking up a pen, Sans began to write a letter to this Rhyaenna. She was going to have to swallow her pride, and how she hated to swallow her pride, but she was going to have to see who she was working with.


	26. CHAPTER XXV: THE RIGHTFUL QUEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... I know I said I'd only be updating twice a month, but I wanted to give you the chapter of when Sansa meets Rhy!

The last person in the world that Rhyaenna expected to hear from was Sansa Stark. Yet, here she sat, in her guest chambers, looking over a letter that had arrived; carried on the wings of a raven from Winterfell.

**_To the Girl who claims to be Rhyaenna Targaryen,_ **

_I do not know who you are, nor do I honestly care._

_I do not believe my brother’s words in saying you are the child of the Mad Queen, and even if you are then you would be a bastard as she and Jon were never married._

_Yet, you are a threat to the North, if not Westeros. So, I invite you to the neutral location of Torrhen's Square, a castle and the seat of House Tallhart. It is located south of the Wolfwood, southwest of Winterfell, and is a week’s ride from White Harbor._

_Signed,_

**_Sansa of House Stark, First of Her Name, Queen of the North_ **

“I can not believe the balls on this woman,” Rhyaenna said, looking over her shoulder at her husband.

Corren laid next to her, naked save for a blanket of furs over his groin and reading a book. “What’s the matter?”

“She insults me, invites me to what will no doubt be another trap on my life, and then signs the letter with a title that does not belong to her,” Rhyaenna snapped.

Corren placed his book aside and sat up, moving to her side. “My love, she is nothing to you.”

“I know that,” Rhyaenna snapped, throwing the letter aside as she leaped from the bed. “I just… Out of everyone that I plan to rain Fire and Blood upon, I want Sansa Stark to burn the worst. She was one of the primary causes of my father betraying my mother, she never even gave my mother a chance!”

“Rhy, you know that’s not all the way fair,” Corren pointed out. “You can not place all the blame upon Sansa Stark.”

“No, but I can place most of it,” Rhyaenna countered. “Father told her, begged her to not tell anyone about his real past. Yet Sansa Stark did it anyway, knowing that it would cause a divide between my parents.”

Corren frowned, tapping his chin. “I wonder if she made his promise in front of a weirwood tree.”

“How would that change anything?” Rhyaenna asked.

“In the North, weirwoods are extremely sacred,” Corren explained. “And the Starks is one of the primary family’s that still worship the Old Gods. At least that’s what I read, as I do not know what Sansa Stark believes, she might have been raised on the Faith of the Seven; as her mother.”

“Get back to the weirwoods, Corren,” Rhyaenna said, rolling her eyes. “Why would she breaking an oath in front of a tree be such a bad thing?”

“It would be considered lying the gods themselves,” Corren explained. “Most of the Smallfolk within the north worship the Old Gods, as so most of the House’s with House Stark being the main one. If word goes out that the ‘Queen of the North’ broke such a sacred law…”

“They’d turn on her,” Rhyaenna finished, nodding. “Interesting… any other laws in the North I should know about?”

“There are three main rules in the North if I recall,” Corren said. “The First is: He who passes judgment should swing the sword. The Second is: Never break an oath spoken in front of a Weirwood tree. The Third is: Never cut down a Weirwood tree.”

Rhyaenna nodded. “I see, thank you Corren. If Sansa did break her word, then maybe I can bluff her into revealing her secret.”

“My Love,” Corren said, standing up from the bed, the furs falling away as he walked to her, taking her hands in his. “I know you mean well, but you can not let anger and hatred blind you. You tell others to move on from the past, but, in a way, you are holding onto it.”

“It’s… It’s different for me,” Rhyaenna sighed, looking into his eyes. “I mean, I’m not trying to sound like a hypocrite but it’s hard to look past what that woman did. I’m not saying she’s the only one who leads to my mother’s murder, but she in a way drove that dagger into my mother’s heart just as much as my father did. My mother came here with good intentions, and they didn’t even give her a chance.”

Corren cupped her chin. “What is it that you always say about your mother?”

“That I learn from her mistakes,” Rhyaenna said.

“Exactly. Be smarter than your mother. Keep that Dragonwolf temper of yours in check, and you will get what you want,” Corren said, kissing her forehead.

Rhyaenna couldn’t stop the warm smile was spread on her face. “Yes, my love… you are right.”

“Of course I am,” Corren chuckled.

Pulling away, he slowly undid the ties of her gown, watching as the cloth fell to the ground at her feet. Corren cupped her breast in his palm, brushing a sensitive pink bud with this thumb as Rhyaenna shuddered.

“Can I ask you a question?” Corren asked, turning her around, kissing her neck.

“Of course, you can,” Rhyaenna sighed, closing her eyes.

“Back in the Great Hall, you mentioned children… Is that something that you want?”

“Truthfully? Yes,” Rhyaenna replied, turning back around to look into his eyes. “Gods, Corren. I won’t deny that I want children. Growing up I’ve always wanted siblings, and I always wondered why Mother never married… now I know why. But when I am ready, I will talk to you both about it, and have your inputs.”

Corren smiled, scooping her up in his arms. “Then let us practice. I heard baby-making is quite fun…”

* * *

 

A week passed quicker than either woman could think. Sansa wanted to appear the superior one in this meeting with Rhyaenna. So, she wore her coordination robes as well as her crown. She had her Stark soldiers lining the walls of the castle, ready to defend their queen at the right sign of trouble. She even arrived first at Torrhen's Square, ready to show this girl who was boss.

Part of Sansa was worried that this girl would appear on a dragon, the weapons of mass destruction that her alleged predecessors possessed.

_‘This girl is not the daughter of Jon,’_ Sansa told herself. _‘Stop worrying. The villagers around Torrhen's Square would give this girl the same reception her bitch of a mother got when she came to the North. I have no need to worry.’_

But Sansa couldn’t deny that she was worried. If this girl did look like Jon… If she looked like a Northerner…

Time slowly ticked by, minutes turning into hours. Sansa had scheduled this meeting to happen at high noon, but the time was nearing three. She wondered if this girl wasn’t going to show up, and found herself smirking in her premature celebration when suddenly the door to the Great Hall burst open.

“Your Grace,” A page from wearing the colors of House Tallhart said. “Your Grace…”

“What’s the matter?” Sansa demanded, leaping to her feet. “Are we under attack?”

“N-No, Your Grace,” the Page said, his body trembling. “It’s… It’s…”

“What is it?!” Sansa hissed. “What the hell is…”

“White She-Wolf!” distant voices chanted. “White She-Wolf! White She-Wolf!”

Sansa glared at the Page. “What is that?”

“T-The people… Your Grace,” the Page replied. “The… The Girl brings people with her from House Manderly, House Blackwood, House Cerwyn and even… House Hornwood.”

The last two names were like a physical blow to Sansa. House Cerwyn was her House’s principle bannerman. House Hornwood ruled the lands between Winterfell, White Harbor, and Castle Cerwyn. For them to be sworn to this girls’ side…

“What is this that they are chanting?” Sansa demanded.

“T-They are calling her the White She-Wolf,” the Page replied. “After… Her…”

Sansa loomed over the Page. “She. Is. Not. His. Daughter,” she growled through clenched teeth. “What has she done to get them to call her that?!”

“According to our spies, she has passed out food and money while she traveled,” The Page said. “She heard of how the harvests haven’t been doing well for the last couple of years.”

“Who could have told her that?!” Sansa shrieked, only to burst into laughter. “Of course, it was that bitch Wylla. It had to be her! I won’t make her stupid daughter my heir, so she pushes this bastard onto my arms. I won’t let her win, I won’t let either of those bitches win!”

The Page said nothing to her and slowly backed out of the room.

Sansa began to pace the floor, giggling and laughing to herself. ‘I won’t let them win. I won’t let them win. This bitch isn’t Jon’s daughter. I know she isn’t. I don’t know what she says. I will never bend the knee to her!”

* * *

 

Rhyaenna shook the light snow from her furred cloak, surprised that she wasn’t that bothered by the cold. She was born and raised in Meereen, a place where sun constantly blazed in clear skies, only to be occasionally disturbed by rain clouds. There was no such thing as snow in Meereen, Rhyaenna believed it most likely didn’t even exist in Essos.

Yet, she found comfort in the snow. There was nothing better than listening to the howl of the icy winds outside the window, as you made love to your partner under a blanket of furs by the fireplace.

_‘Perhaps I will return here again soon,’_ Rhyaenna thought as she and Corren were led into Tallhart. _‘I would love too.’_

Dressed in her black dress and cloak, Rhyaenna held her head high as she entered the Great Hall to find a seated Sansa Stark.

The woman who sat in front of the fireplace looked to be twice as old as her mother, although Rhyaenna knew that Sansa had to be younger than Daenerys. Her hair was grey with age, but it wasn’t the lush or shimmering silver that Daenerys had. There were frown lines around Sansa’s eyes and mouth, lines that were yet to appear on Daenerys’s face.

This was the woman who had turned her parents against each other, who had robbed Rhyaenna of a possible loving family; the only thing that she ever wanted.

Sansa meanwhile was speechless as well, because it was as if her nightmares had come to life in front of her. Her heart was frozen in her chest as she took in this girl, this Rhyaenna, and she couldn’t deny that she was the spitting image of Jon. Sansa knew Jon more than anyone, besides Bran may be; and it was without a doubt in her mind that this girl was his daughter.

For a moment, Sansa was bewitched by her, by this girl’s beauty. She remembered Jon saying that he had wanted a family, and had overheard him say that the only reason why he didn’t pursue it was because of his bastard status.

_‘No one would want a Snow,’_ she remembered him telling Robb. _‘It doesn’t matter that my father is the Warden of the North. I’m still a bastard.”_

_‘But you were so much more than that,’_ Sansa thought. _‘You were the rightful King of Westeros; your claim was greater than that of the Mad Queen.’_

The thought of Daenerys was what snapped Sansa out of her trance. This girl was the daughter of the Mad Queen, who in turn was the daughter of the man that had killed Sansa’s grandfather and uncle. That was a sin that she couldn’t forgive. Sansa knew that she couldn’t show weakness, she couldn’t bend the knee to this… this girl…

“I suppose that I should greet you,” Sansa said, speaking first. “But then again, I do not know the proper titles.”

“You can start with Your Grace,” Rhyaenna replied, crossing the room, not pulling her eyes away from the older woman.

Sansa smirked. “You are no Queen to me.”

“To you, I am a bastard,” Rhyaenna said, taking the opposite elaborate chair that sat across from Sansa.

“You are a nobody to me,” Sansa replied.

“I am the daughter of Daenerys Targaryen and her lover, Jon Snow,” Rhyaenna declared firmly. “You cannot deny it.”

“I do not know what type of witchcraft the Mad Queen used to bring herself back to life,” Sansa snapped. “But you are not my blood. You are not a Stark. You are nothing more than a bastard that the Mad Queen bore by one of her many lovers.”

Rhyaenna gripped the armrest of the chair to stop her from lunging at this woman for insulting her mother. “My mother has only had three lovers in her entire life, with her greatest being my father. Now wither you, believe it or not, I do not care, what matters is that the villagers and townsfolk believe it. I didn’t come to Westeros for you, I came for them.”

“What could you possibly offer the North?” Sansa scoffed. “I am the Queen!”

“A way to grow, perhaps,” Rhyaenna shot back. “From what I’ve seen and heard, the North has stayed the same for the past thousand years, while the South had grown and changed. King’s Landing’s population is greater than that of all the North combined.”

“It’s much smaller in population thanks to your Mother,” Sansa said smugly.

Rhyaenna pinched the bridge of her nose, struggling against her bubbling temper. “I… I promised my mother and my husband that I would try and make peace with you. Bend the knee and you can stay the Wardness of the North. Together we can work to rebuild the North.”

“I DON’T WANT ANYTHING FROM YOU!” Sansa shrieked, the outburst starling everyone present in the room, Rhyaenna included. “You, Targaryen’s are nothing more than demons! Your mother seduced my brother with her womanly charms and made him give up his birthright! You should have never been born!”

“You act as if my mother has personally harmed you,” Rhyaenna said, confused by Sansa’s raging emotions. “She has done nothing of the sort!”

“Before the Battle of Winterfell, I asked her for the North,” Sansa said. “I told her that my brother and I fought for the North, for Winterfell, our home. I told her that we swore that once we took it back, no one would ever take it from us again.”

“And you didn’t even give her a chance to think of a way to maybe accommodate you?” Rhyaenna asked, losing the battle against her own emotions. “You can’t just make demands and expect it to happen. And speaking of the Battle of Winterfell, she told me that you were one of the reasons my parents were driven apart. Jon told his secret to you and you told Tyrion, knowing that it would cause conflict.”

“Jon was obviously the better heir and ruler!” Sansa snapped.

“From what I heard he claimed constantly that he didn’t want it!” Rhyaenna snapped. “Meanwhile my Mother learned the pathway of ruling through trial and error, as a good ruler should.” And idea suddenly popped into her head. “And don’t act as if I do not know the true reason why you are so emotional, it’s because you are guilty.”

Sansa arched an eyebrow. “Why would I ever feel guilty?”

“Because you broke a sacred oath,” Rhyaenna replied, trying to bait Sansa. “Father told you his secret in front of a Weirwood tree, under the condition that you do not tell a single soul. You broke it less than fifteen minutes later.”

Sansa’s face turned red in anger, her heart quickening at Rhyaenna’s words. “H-How do you know that?” She sputtered. “No one… No one knew that!”

Rhyaenna’s lips curved into a smirk. “I didn’t,” she replied. “My husband told me that Northerners normally make sacred promises in front of weirwood trees, and to break the promise was an affront to your gods. You knew what you were doing, you’ve been lying to your people in saying your hands were clean in the matter between my parents. They are dirtier than the streets of King’s Landing.”

Sansa’s lip twitched, the blood draining from her face as she looked to the assembled Lord’s and Lady’s. They were whispering, casting looks of disgust and doubt upon the woman they had trusted to rule them for the past twenty years.

_‘No,’_ Sansa thought. _‘No… No… No!’_

“Please,” Rhyaenna said, begging one last time. “Bend the knee and I will keep you as the Wardeness of the North. I brought books and sketches from Meereen and Essos, to help build new roads and found new towns. A bright future for us is there, we just have to grasp it.”

The sound that came from Sansa was the last sound that Rhyaenna expected: laughter.

Sansa was giggling, doubling over with laughter so hard that her sides ached. “You really think…” Sansa giggled. “That I’d bend the knee to you? The bastard of a whore and Mad Queen? Pings will sooner sprout wings and fly before that happens!”

Rhyaenna’s face darkened, having finally reached her limit for insults. “Be careful Lady Stark, the skies belong to dragons, and that is what I am. If you will not bend the knee, then this means war.”

“Then so be it!” Sansa said, still laughing, a wicked grin on her face. “And anyone here who sides with you is traitors, and have no place in the Kingdom of the North!”

“Good,” Rhyaenna said. “Because they will have a place inside the Kingdom of Westeros. No longer will there be seven kingdoms, seven separate realms where lords fight petty wars over. We are all Westerosi, no matter where we are born or the color of our skin. Enjoy your freedom, for now, Lady Stark. Once I have conquered the rest of Westeros, I will come for you.”

Sansa watched, speechless, as Rhyaenna turned on her heel and strode away; every inch a queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a doozy, wasn't it? What do you guys think, was Sansa right? Was Rhy right? Was neither of them right?
> 
> Next chapter is the chapter you all have been waiting for! Rhy is going to meet JON!!! That's right, I teased it for so long, but Rhy is going to be Jon and it's going to be a LONG one! That being said, I plan to officially go back to my schedule of uploading only twice a month, although if you guys want it, I might be able to increase it to 3 times a month. 
> 
> Tell you guys what though: if I get 20 comments this chapter then I will post the chapter (MIGHT end up breaking it into 2 parts as it's so large) later this week, rather than the 2nd Sunday of the month.


	27. CHAPTER XXVI: DAUGHTER OF WOLVES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the level of support that I've gotten for this FanFic! Thank you so much for the love guys!!!
> 
> So I asked for 20 comments before posting this next chapter, but it's only a couple comments from 20 so I decided to go ahead and post it! This is it, the chapter in which Rhy will meet Jon!! 
> 
> To get into the mood to write the chapter I listened to the House Stark theme as well as Jon & Daenerys's love them on loop until I was finished. Trust me when I say it helped a LOT!!! 
> 
> Enjoy!

The window howled like packs of wolves on the day that Rhyaenna’s party was supposed to leave Torrhen’s Square. The lines had been drawn in the snow, Sansa refused to bend the knee and Rhyaenna refused to give the North its independence. There would be one unified Kingdom of Westeros, nothing more, nothing less. For too long the petty Lord’s fought amongst each other over scraps of land that may or may not have belonged to them or their families.

The people who suffered the worst were the Smallfolk, and those were the people that Rhyaenna wanted to help.

While Sansa’s group left mere hours after the terrible meeting, the Princess stayed in Torrhen’s Square for two more days. House Tallhart had declared for Sansa, as had several other Northern House’s, but at the same time House’s were turning to Rhyaenna’s side.

There were the powerful House’s such as Manderly, Blackwood, Cerwyn, Hornwood, and even House Dustin; all were on the side of Rhyaenna. This included the three new House’s that had been recently formed, of people who had come to New Castle when Rhyaenna was holding Court.

There was the Free Folk founded House of Bearhart of Bear Island. House Tymber, a mixture of Ironborn and Northerners, now in possession of the Last Hearth that used to belong to House Umber. House Bulwer, now in possession of the Dreadfort, that used to belong to House Bolton. Lastly, there was Oatwright, now in possession of Karhold, that used to belong to House Karstark.

All these Houses were new, and they knew that they had to prove themselves to the world that they had entered. But, with the support of Rhyaenna and the money she had given them, there was a chance. The only thing that the Princess asked in return of giving them power was their loyalty, and to support her claim to the throne.

The Page was not lying when he told Sansa that Rhyaenna had been passing out food and money on the way from White Harbor to Torrhen’s Square. The North was slightly richer than the poorest Great House in the South, and for Westeros to be unified it would have to be improved.

As any queen should, Rhyaenna gave out silver wolves and copper pennies, while also passing out bread and dried meat. When she stopped at towns, she talked to the mayors and grew worried when she heard about the terrible harvests that had plagued the North for the past five years.

Everything that Rhyaenna did, slowly began to chip away at the frozen hearts of the Northerners, high and lowborn.

They saw that she had come here, not flying on the back of a dragon to demand their allegiance; but rather on the back of a horse to earn their trust and support. Not only that, but word spread like wildfire throughout the realm of Sansa’s betrayal to the gods. She had broken a sacred vow in front of a weirwood tree, and that was something that could not be easily forgiven.

* * *

 

Rhyaenna knew that the day had come for her and her party to return to White Harbor, and then return to Dragonstone, but she needed at least one more day in the North. After begging Corren, her lover finally agreed for them to spend one more day, and one day only, in this section of the realm.

Rhyaenna’s heart was overjoyed by this, and she quickly returned to her chambers to change clothes. For one day, she wanted to be a simple girl, and girl who lived in the North, so she took off her elaborate furs and cloaks and changed into something humbler. In his gratitude, Lord Steigr had gifted Rhyaenna a set of wildling furs, thick clothing that would both protect her from the cold and allow great mobility. Corren had to help her up to them on, but once the outfit was on, the Princess found herself in love with them.

“And where are you going?” Corren asked, watching as Rhyaenna slid a knife into the scabbard strapped to her hip.

“A ride among the Wolfswood,” Rhyaenna replied, making sure the straps and ties of the outfit were secure. “I have food and water in my saddlebag, and I will be back within the next couple of hours.”

Corren frowned. “The storm outside is picking up… I’m still not sure that you should be out there alone. What if Sansa sends assassins after you?”

“She wouldn’t dare after the meeting, if she wants to fully lose the support of the North,” Rhyaenna replied, walking to her husband and kissing him deeply. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Corren gave her hand a gentle squeeze before she pulled away, watching her go. He couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut that something was going to happen today, but either it as good or bad he didn’t know.

Hurrying to her awaiting horse, Rhyaenna swung herself up into the saddle and pulled her hood over her head. Kicking the sides of the beast the two charged out of the castle, heading deep within the Wolfwood.

The Wolfswood was the largest forest in the North, spreading for thousands upon thousands of miles. It was easy for one to become lost within the Wolfswood, that was why markers were placed in trees and among properly beating roads. But as the storm picked up, it was easy for such markers to get lost.

While Rhyaenna preferred to ride upon the backs of her dragons, she couldn’t’ deny that slight thrill of being upon the back of a horse. She got the same thrill of being free and wanton, to have the wind caressing her cheeks and the howl of it in her ears.

But as the wind picked up and the snow began to come down harder, Rhyaenna’s vision began to cloud. She couldn’t see far in front of her, and the Princess knew that she couldn’t afford to get lost and needed to get back.

_‘But where is back?’_ Rhyaenna wondered, looking around. _‘Where is the path in which I came?’_

The markers on the path and trees were covered by snow, and Rhyaenna didn’t have the time to try and dig them up.

The snow began to nip sharply at her cheeks and nose, causing them to sting and burn. Corren had told her about something called frostbite, where limps and digits become blacked from cold and fall off. Rhyaenna had to find a safe place and she had to find it now.

Straining her eyes, Rhyaenna looked left and right, trying to find a place to shelter until the storm could pass. Out of the corner of her eye, Rhyaenna saw a flicker of light in the distance and spurred her horse in that direction. The light seemed to get further and further away, the horse began to shriek and stumble in the snow; but Rhyaenna knew that they could not give up. Jumping down from its back and covering her eyes, Rhyaenna held the reigns and pulled the horse behind her.

_‘I am the blood of the dragon,’_ Rhyaenna told herself with every step. _‘No. I’m a Stark… I’m a wolf. The snow does not bother me, the North is my home.’_

Finally, they reached the mouth of what looked to be a frozen waterfall. Behind the ice, Rhyaenna saw a cave and that was where the light was coming from. Grunting, Rhyaenna pressed on, entering the cave without a sense of fear.

Once inside the cave, Rhyaenna felt the warmth of a fire, and she saw that the light indeed was coming from a large fire near the back. Next to this fire sat a man in black furs and clothes, a massive white wolf, and several smaller wolves around them. A horse nickered nor far away, having knelt down in a small bed of straw to sleep.

Hearing hooves clopping, the Man turned around and his eyebrows shot up. Before stood a girl who appeared to be no older than nineteen years of age, maybe twenty. She was dressed in Free Folk furs, her long black hair bound in a simple braid over her shoulder, but her eyes… they were as violet as fresh lavender.

“O-Oh,” the Man stammered, surprised. “I see that I have a guest.”

“The… The snow is coming down hard enough to bury a man alive,” Rhyaenna replied, frowning as she looked the man up and down, checking him for weapons.

He didn’t appear to be much of a threat. Age-wise, Rhyaenna pegged him to be forty, with greying black hair, and grey eyes so dark they looked black. His eyes… how full of sorrow they looked as if this man had seen the worst days of his life and only wished for death’s sweet embrace.

“That I can agree,” the Man said, standing up. “It always comes out of nowhere it seems. Are you lost?”

“Kind of,” Rhyaenna said, slowly walking to where his horse was so she could tie her own to the wall. “You?”

“Just passing through before I return home,” the Man said, trying to get a better look at her. “Please, you have nothing to fear from me. I only have my sword but it’s over there against the wall. What is your name, child?”

“You can… call me Rhy,” Rhyaenna said, still not completely sure if she should trust this man.

Yet as she looked in his eyes, Rhyaenna couldn’t shake the feeling of him being so familiar.

“My name is Jon,” the Man replied. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Rhy.”

Rhyaenna’s heart froze in her chest the moment that he said his name. ‘Jon… No… No, it’s impossible. Surely it could have no been this easy to find him? Out of the places in the North, he could be… I found him a simple cave?’

 “Excuse me… Sir,” Rhyaenna said slowly. “Is… Is your name perhaps… Jon Snow?”

Jon’s eyebrows show up. “Yes… Yes, it is… How did you know…?”

Rhyaenna took a deep breath, her violet eyes swimming with tears held back for twenty years. “Because… Because I’m your daughter…”

* * *

 

Jon’s heart froze in his chest, blood roaring in his ears.

_‘I’m your daughter,’_ the Girl had said. _‘I’m your daughter…’_

_‘But that… that’s impossible,’_ Jon thought. _‘I don’t have children.’_

“I don’t… I don’t believe you,” Jon stammered. “You can’t be my daughter, I’ve been… I’ve been without female company for over two decades.”

“Do you remember a queen?” Rhyaenna asked, her lip trembling. “A queen with silver hair and who rode dragons? A queen… a queen you claimed to love, only to drive a dagger into her heart?”

Jon’s eyes widened. “Dany…” he whispered.

“You killed her,” Rhyaenna choked, tears finally sliding down her cheeks. “You killed… You killed me.”

“I-It’s impossible,” Jon stammered. “Dany couldn’t have children, Dany died… I saw her die…”

“The Lord of Light brought her back,” Rhyaenna said, then she corrected herself. “Brought us back.”

Jon slowly stood to his feet, walking to where Rhyaenna stood and peered closer into her face. Those violet eyes… those same violet eyes that had captivated him the moment he saw Daenerys, their daughter possessed those same eyes. But the rest of her face, her mouth, nose, even the color of her hair… that was all him; there was no doubt about it.

“Rhy…” Jon whispered. “What is your full name?”

“Rhyaenna,” Rhyaenna spat, flinging the words at him like weapons. “Mother named me in your honor.”

“After my parents, Rhaegar and Lyanna…”

Jon’s head was spinning, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from Rhyaenna’s face. For a moment the cave was still, neither of them moved, neither of them probably even breathed. The child that Jon had always wanted, was standing right in front of him, and yet her eyes burned with a wave of fierce anger.

“How could you?” Rhyaenna asked, the tears sliding down like twin rivers. “How could you kill us?”

“Dany is alive…” Jon said. “Dany… Dany is alive…”

“Is that all you can say?!” Rhyaenna screamed at him, her voice echoing among the cave walls. “Of course, she’s alive if I’m here! For the past twenty years, she raised me in Meereen, taught me how to be a queen. She gave me the love that was deprived of you!”

“So, what… why are you here?”

“To do what you didn’t want to, what you robbed my mother of doing,” Rhyaenna replied. “I’m conquering Westeros, and with my dragons, I will claim my birthright.”

“D-Dragons… there are more?” Jon stammered.

“Of course, there are more!” Rhyaenna yelled.

Before she could stop herself, Rhyaenna grabbed the knife at her side and pointed it at his throat, hot tears coursing down her face. Jon didn’t move to defend himself, and Rhyaenna knew that it wouldn’t take much for her to cut him from ear to ear. But her hand trembled, and she dropped the blade to the ground, backing up and dropping to her knees, sobbing.

“I can’t do it…” she cried. “I can’t kill you. I have told myself that I should kill all my enemies but you… you shouldn’t be my enemy. You’re my father, you should be on my side… but every time I look at you, all I see is the man who murdered my mother! Who murdered me!”

Jon dropped to his knees before her. “I swear to you, Rhyaenna, I did not know that Dany was pregnant. If I had known, I wouldn’t have… done what I did. I loved your mother, I wanted nothing more than to help her achieve her goals. But she… she went mad, she murdered thousands of innocents in King’s Landing!”

“Did you think, for once what she was going through?!” Rhyaenna yelled at him. “She had lost everyone that she loved, everyone that had supported her from day one.”

“I was there!” Jon protested.

“But you didn’t help her!” Rhyaenna countered. “She needed you and you turned your back on her just the same. Then, you stabbed her in the heart, you killed _us_!”

Jon hung his head, sobbing alongside his daughter. He had not thought of the ripple effect of his actions. For years he had never been able to get Daenerys out of his mind, and now he knew why. On the other side of the world, she was still alive, she was ruling Meereen, she had borne their child.

“I missed it…” Jon whispered. “I missed… I missed everything. You’re a grown woman now, you don’t need me.”

“Mother needs you,” Rhyaenna said. “Or at least deserves to know that you’re still alive. I meant what I said, I am unifying Westeros, and she is here, on Dragonstone; waiting for me.”

Jon’s heart skipped a beat as he looked at her. “She-She is?”

Rhyaenna nodded, her face hard. “Yes, she is. And before you get my forgiveness, you need to get hers.”

Jon was torn. His duty was to the Free Folk, to help them settle. But they had achieved that, no one really needed his services now. All his life Jon had helped others, given his life to help others, for once he wanted to be selfish and do what he wanted.

“I… I will go,” Jon whispered. “With you… to Dragonstone.”

The white wolf that sat next to the fire gave out a small bark, wagging his tail. Jon couldn’t help but give a small smile, but then his face morphed into one of confusion as Ghost’s Nameless Daughter stood up and trotted over to Rhyaenna. The white she-direwolf sniffed the girl, then began to rub her head against her, tagging the tip of her tail.

“What’s going on?” Rhyaenna asked, holding up her hands, confused.

“It looks like she likes you,” Jon said. “That’s Ghost’s daughter, my direwolf. They are the symbols of House Stark… _our_ House.”

Rhyaenna looked down at the beast, watching as the tail began to wag faster. _‘A direwolf…’_ she thought to herself. ‘ _The symbol of my House…’_

Slowly, Rhyaenna bent down and began to stroke the direwolves’ head, a smile splitting her face as the creature licked it.

“Hello there,” Rhyaenna said gently. “I’m Rhy, so nice to meet you.”

“I never gave them names, as it wasn’t my right,” Jon explained. “But… seeing as she likes you…”

Rhyaenna scratched the direwolf under the chin. “Do you want me to name you? Huh? Do you girl? Let me think…” Rhyaenna began to rub her belly, looking into those wonderful red eyes. “I think I’ll call you… Daenys, after Daenys the Dreamer. The Targaryen who convinced her father to move to Dragonstone, thus avoiding the Doom and preserving our family. What do you think?”

‘Daenys’ gave a joyful bark.

“Daenys it is,” Jon said, smiling softly.

* * *

 

The snowstorm howled for hours outside of the waterfall, but Rhyaenna did not mind. Between the direwolf in her lap and the fire in front of her, Rhyaenna was as warm as anyone could be. An awkward silence settled between her and Jon, neither of knowing what to say or do.

“Corren is going to be looking for me,” Rhyaenna said, breaking the silence.

“Corren?” Jon asked. “Is that you… brother?”

The thought of Daenerys having more children by someone else made Jon’s stomach turn. He knew that he had no claim upon the woman, but Jon had always thought of Daenerys as his and he was hers.

“I don’t think sharing a bed with my brother would be acceptable,” Rhyaenna said, unable to stop herself from smiling. “Then again… I am a Targaryen. But no, he’s not my brother. He’s my husband… one of them.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “One of them? How many husbands do you have?”

“Two,” Rhyaenna replied. “Corren and Vyreo.”

Jon nodded. “Like Aegon the Conqueror. You said you came to conquer Westeros, so I am guessing they are from important House’s in the realm?”

“Corren is from House Yronwood,” Rhyaenna said. “Vyreo is from Braavos. I married him to secure funding from the Iron Bank, and I married Corren to secure the allegiance of Dorne. But… I love them both.”

Jon knew that he should be happy, to know that his daughter had found what he had always wanted: love. But at the same time, he felt sadness and a wave of anger within himself. Jon had missed everything, Rhyaenna’s first steps, her first tooth, her first tantrums, her first words. He had even missed her wedding, an event that Jon had always wanted for himself.

“Congratulations,” Jon said, forcing himself to smile. “Are you with child?”

“What? No, of course not,” Rhyaenna replied. “It’s but too early for that but… I will talk to my husbands as I would want to at least try. I told Dyana Manderly that I would bear a child and give it the Stark name. once I’ve dethroned Sansa and…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jon said, holding up his hands. “What do you mean ‘take the Stark name?’ ‘Dethrone Sansa?’”

Not having much of a choice, Rhyaenna decided to tell her father everything, and she meant _everything_. She started at her nameday celebration when Daenerys told her the truth, up until the present, and didn’t omit any details.

Jon listened to everything she said, and he found himself interacting with her. When Rhyaenna laughed, he laughed. When Rhyaenna was angry, he became angry. In fact, Jon became furious when Rhyaenna told him that Sansa had admitted to breaking her oath in front of the weirwood tree. But the emotion that always replaced the anger or slight happiness was one of sorrow.

Jon had missed it all, he had abandoned Daenerys to raise their daughter alone.

“She must hate me…” Jon whispered. “She must want my heart on a platter.”

“Mother… Mother exactly hate you…” Rhyaenna replied. “She misses you, might even still love you.”

Jon’s heart flipped in his chest. “She… She does?”

“I can not speak for her, Rhyaenna said. “But I know that she misses for you, although to what extent I do not know.”

Jon looked up, his mouth opening to answer, only to grow silent at the sound of feet crunching against snow outside of the cave. His hand went to his sword, and he watched as Rhyaenna grabbed her knife, holding it with an expert grip.

_'Leave it to Dany to raise our child to be a fighter. The blood of warriors on both sides.’_

“Rhy?” a deep voice called. “Rhy, are you in there?”

“Corren?” Rhyaenna said, scrambling to her feet. “Corren!”

She ran to the mouth of the cave, only to slam into a thick barrier. The front of the cave had frozen over, leaving a thick wall of ice between Rhyaenna and her husband.

“I’m here Corren!” Rhyaenna yelled, pounding on the ice with her fists. “I’m here! How did you find me?”

 “We got worried when you didn’t return to the castle,” Corren explained. “And after hours of searching, we found this cave, figuring that you took shelter here.”

Rhyaenna didn’t even know that she had been out here for hours, how time had flown.

“What’s going on?” Jon asked, appearing at Rhyaenna’s side, palming at the ice.

“Who’s that?” Corren asked.

“My… My Father,” Rhyaenna replied. “I found him.”

Corren was silent a moment. “W-Wow… I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You can meet him once we get out of here,” Rhyaenna said, banging on the ice. “What are we going to do?”

“The wall of ice is too thick for us to break it with hammers, Your Grace,” a soldier said on the other side. “We will have to wait for it to thaw.”

“And only the gods know when that’ll happen,” Corren said.

Rhyaenna’s heart began to pound in her chest, blood roaring in her ears as fear pumped through her veins. It would take the snow outside weeks if not months to thaw, so she was horrified to imagine how long it would take for this thick wall to melt.

“Don’t worry,” Jon said, putting a hand on Rhyaenna’s shoulder. “We will find a way out of here.”

Rhyaenna couldn’t deny that his touch was calming, soothing as a father should. As Jon began to tap against the sides of the ice with his sword to find a weak spot, Rhyaenna turned back to the ice.

_‘If only I had brought one of my dragons with me,’_ Rhyaenna thought. ‘ _They would help…’_

At that very moment on Dragonstone, Aenerys—Rhyaenna’s personal mount—was sunning herself among the rocks of the island. The she-dragon lifted her head, sensing her mistress’s peril on the other side of the kingdom.

_‘Rhyaenna,’_ Aenerys said, joining her mind with Rhyaenna’s.

_‘Aenerys?’_ Rhyaenna thought. _‘Aenerys I need help. My father and I are trapped behind a wall of ice and I need you to come and melt it.’_

_‘Why me?’_ Aenerys replied. _‘You have all the power you might need. You are the Blood of the Dragon, remember? You have a connection with a fire unlike any other. Look inside you, the power is there.’_

Rhyaenna closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I am the heiress of House Targaryen and House Stark, the blood of Old Valyria and the First Men. I am the daughter of Queen Daenerys and the King of the North, Jon Snow; descendant of supreme royalty. I was resurrected by the Lord of Light, showing his favor in my conquest. I am the Blood of the Dragon, I am a Wolf; ice shall not keep me trapped!”

The wall of ice began to crack with each word that Rhyaenna spoke, her hand burning white-hot against the barrier. Then, as Rhyaenna said her final words, the ice around them exploded with a great, CRACK!

Rhyaenna’s black hair began to slowly turn silver, melting away like ice before stopping at her upper shoulders. The hair from the crown of Rhyaenna’s head to her shoulders was the color of molten silver, marking her as a Targaryen; with the rest of the hair remaining its black color, marking her as a Stark. This was a statement to all of her dual blood, of her quest to unify all of Westeros just as House Targaryen and House Stark were now unified.

When the mist cleared, Corren ran into the cave, wrapping his arms around Rhyaenna, kissing her cheek.

“You’re alright,” Corren said, looking her over for any sign of injury. “Wait, when did your hair change? How did you do that?”

Rhyaenna looked down at her palms, the gloves melted away, her palms were red but unharmed. “I… I don’t know… I just asked Aenerys to lend me her power and…”

“You’re a warg, like Bran?” Jon asked, standing to his feet.

Corren almost stopped the sword at his side. “Y-Your… You’re Jon Snow…”

Jon nodded, but his eyes were on Rhyaenna. “You’re a warg… and you have Targaryen blood. Perhaps when you were… resurrected by the Lord of Light something happened, perhaps you are true Union of Ice and Fire.”

Rhyaenna dropped her hands to her sides. “If I am then I believe with even more furor that it’s my destiny and duty unify Westeros. F-Father,” she took a deep breath. “We leave for White Harbor today to return for Dragonstone. If you want to come with us, you can, I will not force you.”

Jon did not even have to think about it. “I will return with you to Dragonstone.”

_‘And return to Dany… My love, I am coming…’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that chapter was something, wasn't it? Let me give a little explanation of what happened in the cave. So it's known that Wargs can tap into the mind of animals and by extension inhabit their bodies and use their abilities. 
> 
> Example: Bran in the mind of Summer and being able to 'eat'. 
> 
> What Rhy did was enter the mind of her dragon and the dragon 'lent' her some of her dragonfire so that they could escape. The only way that this happened was because Rhy is both a warg AND a member of House Targaryen. A normal warg wouldn't be able to do this, as Targaryen's call themselves 'Blood of the Dragon'; and thus have a strong connection with their beasts.
> 
> But next chapter I guess is the BIGGEST chapter you guys have wanted, and it's Jon & Dany meeting after over 20 years. Also, that chapter will be like the last 'peaceful' chapter there in the story because right after that is when we get into the FIGHTING, but more on that later.
> 
> I'll give you guys the challenge again but let's make it harder: 25 comments and I'll post the Jon/Dany reunion chapter earlier than it's scheduled. I love getting you guys involved, and love to hear from you!
> 
> Toodles <3


	28. CHAPTER XXVII: THE DRAGON AND THE WOLF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys reached the goal!
> 
> OMG thank you guys! I can't believe that you did it! And as a woman of my word I present to you, the chapter of Jon and Dany FINALLY meeting!!!

Jon remembered the first time he came to Dragonstone, how transfixed he was of the massive fortress.

Never in his life did Jon think that he, the great Bastard of the North, would be on the infamous island.

Never in his life did Jon think that he, the great Bastard of the North, would be King of the North.

Never in his life did Jon think that he, the great Bastard of the North, be the lover of a Queen and father a child.

Yet, all three things happened, and in rapid succession too.

The first time that Jon visited Dragonstone, he was greeted by a small army of Dothraki bloodscreamers and Daenerys’s closest advisor. This time, only a small army of soldiers dressed in light black armor awaited him, headed by a man with long black hair, blue eyes, and twin swords upon his back.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Rhyaenna’s face light up and wondered who this man might be. He recalled her telling him that she had two husbands, so Jon wondered if this was the second one. The… Vyreo.

Jon still did not know how to fully process that the daughter that he had just met had two husbands, but then again, he was a quick adapter.

Jon watched as Rhyaenna jumped down from their small boat and leaped into the Man’s arms, laughing softly a He kissed her neck.

“About time you returned,” the Man said in a deep, gruff voice that made Jon wonder if this man was a Northerner. “I was getting worried.”

“Well forgive me for getting trapped in a snowstorm,” Rhyaenna replied, rolling her eyes the same way that Daenerys did.

The Man’s lips curved into a smirk. “A snowstorm, you say? There is nothing better than being trapped inside your castle during a snowstorm. All you can do is lay in front of the fireplace and fuck.” He slid his hands down Rhyaenna’s body. “And speaking of fucking… there is another reason why I missed you…”

Rhyaenna’s face flushed red as she nervously laughed, playfully pulling away. “Vyreo… please,” she whispered. “Not in front of my Father…”

Vyreo arched an eyebrow. “Your father? You mean the fucker that murdered your father?”

For the first time, Vyreo took notice of Jon, who stood two steps behind Rhyaenna. The Young Man grit his teeth, his hand going to his sword but Rhyaenna grabbed his hand, shaking her head.

“It’s alright, Vyreo,” Rhyaenna said. “My father…” she took a deep breath. “… My father isn’t going to hurt me. Where is Mother?”

“In the Garden of Dragons,” Vyreo replied, still eyeing Jon with suspicion.

The Garden of Dragons was the only grassy plot of land on Dragonstone and was normally where the dragons sunned themselves for hours on end. Designed by Queen Rhaenys in her youth, it was a good place to meditation, or to just relax. Legend said that before the Conquest, it was the place where she and Aegon would sneak off to when he wanted time away from Visenya.

Jon followed Rhyaenna into the garden, and his blood ran cold at what he saw. Six dragons laid in a circle, their eyes closed as they slumber. Well, five of them slumbers, the largest one, a black one, as wide awake and its eyes were fastened upon Rhyaenna.

Jon watched as Rhyaenna walked among the massive beasts without fear, smiling and petting their nozzles with motherly affection.

‘She’s just like Dany…’ Jon thought.

“Hello girl,” Rhyaenna said, stroking the black dragon’s nose. “Where’s a mother?”

As if answering her question, a loud roar filled the air. Jon instantly hid behind one of the dragons as a seventh dragon—which he knew to be Drogon because of its size—appeared in the sky.

Jon watched as Drogon flapped his—no her because Drogon was the one who laid the six eggs no doubt—massive wings. Drogon had more than doubled in size since Jon had last seen him, and the dragon was already to swallow a cow whole. Now, Drogon looked like he could swallow a giant without difficulty.

Drogon landed in the larger part of the gardens, the ground shaking violently as the dragon touched down to earth; kicking up small rocks, dirt, and fallen leaves. Growling softly, he laid himself flat onto the ground, and that was when Jon saw her.

Daenerys was strapped into some weird type of saddle, an improvement from riding bareback years ago. Jon had hoped that Daenerys would make some type of saddle or hardness when she rode her dragons, as he feared all it would take was a well-aimed arrow to knock her to her death.

‘She hadn’t aged a day…’ Jon thought.

In Jon’s eyes, Daenerys looked just beautiful as she did twenty-one years ago. Her skin was still flawless, her hair was still the color of molten silver and her eyes… Jon gave a low groan of desire. Her eyes were still that breathtaking color of violet.

“Mother,” Rhyaenna said, smiling with joy.

“Rhy, you’re back,” Daenerys said, sliding down from Drogon’s back.

Daenerys wrapped her arms around Rhyaenna in a warm embrace, kissing the top of her hair. It was at that moment that Daenerys took notice of her daughter’s hair and she frowned, pulling away to get a better look.

“Did you do something with your hair?” Daenerys asked. “It’s… silver?”

“A lot… a lot has happened when I went to the North,” Rhyaenna replied. “There was some bad, but most of it was good. Some of it was very good.”

Daenerys arched an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

The dragon what Jon was hiding behind began to move, growling lowly as it stood on its hind legs; revealing him.

Daenerys turned to look at the commotion and she froze, the color draining from her face. “J-Jon?” she stammered.

Jon forced himself to keep a blank expression, but he was swiftly losing the battle against his swirling emotions. He wanted nothing more than to run up to Daenerys and to kiss her, but he knew better.

“Dany…” he whispered.

Daenerys slowly walked to him, moving at a snail’s pace. Her hand reached up, and Jon closed his eyes, preparing to feel the warm press of her palm against his cheek.

But instead of feeling a lover’s caresses, Jon instead felt a sharp pain upon her face. Daenerys, with all her might, had pulled her hand back and slapped him as hard as she could across the face.

“Bathe in the seven hells,” she spat at him, storming away and into the palace.

* * *

 

Daenerys’s heart hammered within her chest like a drum, her palms were clammy, and her knees were shaking, yet she forced her to feel to keep on moving. Right now, Daenerys wanted nothing more than for Drogon to roast Jon alive, it was what he deserved after all. But she couldn’t bring herself to give the command.

Inside the castle walls, Daenerys didn’t stop walking until she reached her chambers. Closing the door behind her, Daenerys slid down against the hardwood, tucked in her knees and began to sob.

All her years Daenerys wanted Jon to come back, to have him in her arms again. But at the same time, Daenerys couldn’t help but feel sick when she looked at him.

He had stabbed her.

The man who had given her the child she had always wanted, had stabbed her.

He deserved to have his cock cut off. He deserved to be torn apart by horses. He deserved to be bathed in dragon fire.

‘And yet I still love him,’ Daenerys sobbed, fat tears sliding down her cheeks. ‘All these years, I still love him.’

She didn’t join Rhyaenna for dinner, and Daenerys couldn’t have given less than a damn for what Jon did. Instead, she stayed in her chambers, having moved to her bed and just cried.

Daenerys did not know what hour of the night it was when she awoke, her chambers dark, save for a couple of flickering candles… and a dark shadow by the door.

Uttering a soft cry of fear, Daenerys reached desperately under her pillow for the dagger she kept there.

“Dany, it’s me,” Jon’s deep voice said in the darkness. “Dany…”

Jon stepped forward, the slow candlelight illumining his form. He was still dressed in the same light armor that Daenerys had seen him in when he arrived. Her Beloved hadn’t exactly aged well, his dark eyes were full of sorrow and there were frown lines on his face. Jon was infamous for his brooding.

“How did you get in here?” Daenerys demanded, holding the dagger in front of her. “How did you find my chambers?”

“Our daughter told me of course,” Jon said. “I didn’t think that you’d mind…”

“Our daughter?” Daenerys repeated. “Don’t make me laugh. Rhy is my child, and mine alone. You abandoned all responsibility for her the moment you pushed your dagger into my heart!”

“I helped create her Dany,” Jon said, crossing his arms. “Or did you forget the boat, our stay in Wintertown, the nights traveling the Winterfell, the Waterfall… you didn’t make her, yourself.”

“Stop calling me that,” Daenerys hissed, struggling against the erotic nights in mention. “Stop calling me Dany!” She held the dagger tighter. “Why are you here? Come to finish the job you started twenty years ago?”

“Of course not!” Jon hissed. “Why would I kill you?”

“Because Sansa poisoned you against me, Tyrion too,” Daenerys said.

Jon’s face grew hard. “Tyrion and Sansa did not poison me again, you. You did that yourself, Dany.”

“Stop calling me that!” Daenerys shrieked. “Stop calling me Dany!”

“Why?” Jon demanded. “You used to love it when I called you that!”

“Because it reminds me of the good times!” Daenerys blurted out, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Besides you, the only other person who called me Dany was my brother; and he did it when he was abusing me. Viserys did everything but rape me, in my childhood, and he always called me Dany. When you called me that…” she choked on a sob. “When you called me Dany, I replaced all the bad memories with the good, as all I wanted was to think of you and our love. But what did that love get me? A dagger in the heart!”

“You left me no choice Daenerys!” Jon thundered. “You were going to kill everyone who disagreed with you. Who you viewed as an enemy. How long until your eye turned to Sansa? To Arya? To Bran?”

“I wouldn’t have touched them because they were your family!” Daenerys argued back. “Family was important to you Starks. I could handle Sansa’s snobbish attitude. I could handle Arya’s coldness. I could handle Bran… being Bran. As long as I had you. All I’ve ever wanted Jon in this world was a family, a home. I spent my childhood in poverty, sleeping in gutters and stealing bread to eat.

“Viserys told me that I was descended from kings and queens, that the Iron Throne was my birthright. Growing up I didn’t care about any of that, all I wanted was a home and a family to love me. That’s what I felt with you Jon, I felt loved. But you allowed people to turn you against me. You couldn’t even look at me once you found out about your parents.”

“You were, are, my aunt!” Jon yelled.

“And Starks married first cousins, and other nobles of Westeros married half-siblings or not-so-distant relatives,” Daenerys countered. “Not only that but did you for once think of how I might feel? That night on Dragonstone, after I executed Varys, do you know why I was so upset? The Spider was trying to poison me, he had one of his Little Birds slip it into my food. Varys was supposed to be my ally, and he betrayed me the moment he learned about you. I had to do it.”

“And if the other Lords of Westeros would have declared for me, would you have killed them too?” Jon asked. “Tell me, Daenerys, would you have done it?”

* * *

 

Daenerys opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“And the peasants in King’s Landing, do you remember hearing their screams?” Jon asked. “Because I do. I remember watching as children, innocent children, were burned to ash! I remember watching as my men, men who had served me since the Battle of the Bastards, turned to rape, pillage, and murder. I remember watching as Grey Worm execute men who had already surrendered. All of this happened because of you, Daenerys. You weren’t the savior you claimed to be, you were a monster worse than Cersei.”

Blood roared in Daenerys’s ears at his words, striking her as if a physical blow.

For years Daenerys had told herself that what she had done was the right thing. That the people of King’s Landing were just going to turn on her anyway.

“You made that battle personal, Daenerys,” Jon said, pointing a finger at her. “You murdered innocent people, and it was my duty to do what was right for the realm. But if I had known that you were pregnant…”

“You would have let me live?” Daenerys asked, spitefully.

“I honestly don’t know what I would have done,” Jon replied. “But I wouldn’t have killed you. Children are innocent in the crimes of their parents, and I believed that in you. You told me that you didn’t want to be remembered as the Mad King’s Daughter, you said that you didn’t want that to be your legacy.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean…” Daenerys stammered.

“We don’t have to look to the past for us,” Jon said, taking a small step forward. “We can have a future. Our child… our child is a blessing from the gods. You thought that you could never have children, and I have always wanted them. Please, Dany…” Jon slowly knelt before her. “Please, let us try to move forward.”

Daenerys was trembling, the tears still sliding down her cheeks. She wanted so badly to be angry with him, she wanted to scream at him, she wanted to shout at him. But she knew that he was right.

When she came to Westeros, Daenerys wanted to break the wheel, she wanted to change the lives for the simple people. But when she saw that no one loved her, everyone hated her, it enraged her. First she law Jorah, then Missandei was killed by Cersei, and when Varys betrayed her; it was the final straw. If Daenerys couldn’t rule by love, then she would rule by fear.

And that was wrong.

Fear was no way to rule, a good ruler must be able to balance between love and fear.

“I will have to think about this,” Daenerys said. “I don’t… I need time, Jon.”

“And I will give you that time,” Jon said. “Whatever it takes, however long it takes.”

“And our daughter, will you acknowledge her as yours?” Daenerys asked. “It’s one thing for me to say it, but it will help her claim if you do.”

“Of course, I will acknowledge her as mine,” Jon said, almost offended that she would ask such a thing. “What… um… do you call her? Is she a Snow? A Sand? Or… what do they call bastards in Meereen?”

“Rhy is not a bastard,” Daenerys retorted, now it was her turn to be offended. “She is a Targaryen, as she should be.”

“Right,” Jon said, nodding and taking a slow breath. “I see. And she meant it, she’s going to take the throne?”

“Honestly? I’m not completely sure, but I know that she’s going to fight for it,” Daenerys replied. “She’s a strong, young woman, stubborn too; I suspect she gets that from you.”

“Me?” Jon asked, his eyebrows shooting up. “You’re the stubborn one.”

“I am not,” Daenerys retorted, lowering the dagger. “If anyone is infamous for being stubborn and brooding when they don’t get their way, it’s your Starks.”

Jon stood up, looking into those violet eyes. “I guess that’s true…”

They were pressed close together, the light from the candles made Daenerys’s eyes glow. The only sound in the room was the snaps of the candles and their soft breathing. Jon wrapped his arms around her waist, slowly pulling her closer as he lowered his lips onto hers.

For a moment all was still, and Daenerys closed her eyes, accepting his kisses. It inflamed the long, hidden desire within her, as she hadn’t taken a lover since Jon; no one could be his equal. His kisses were soft, yet Daenerys knew a fire raged within him, matching her own; but it was she who broke the kiss.

“Jon,” she whispered. “I want nothing more than to take you to bed… but it’s too soon. We need…” she took a deep breath. “We need to take things slow.”

Jon frowned. He knew that she felt the hunger and passion as much as he did, but at the same time he knew that Daenerys was right. They had to take things slow, as it was no doubt they had changed much within these twenty years.

“Alright,” Jon whispered, dropping his arms but pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’ll respect your wishes.”

Letting her go, Jon walked to the door but stopped, turning back to her.

“I haven’t stopped loving you Daenerys,” he said. “The only reason why I didn’t kill myself to join you in the Afterlife, was because I knew it would be an affront to the gods. But now I see that I would have made the biggest mistake of my life if I had done that. I’m never leaving you again, Dany.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was so sweet, and also so heartbreaking!
> 
> This chapter took me a while to write because I wanted to get it right. Jon and Dany meeting is a long-awaited chapter, and I did not want to rush it. I made sure to give both points of view of Dany thinking that she was right & Jon telling her, "No girl, you were wrong. You were wrong, wrong, wrong."
> 
> Dany was wrong, she really was. (Well really D&D were wrong but I don't get into THAT debate) and Jon telling her that, INSTEAD OF STABBING HER, was a wake-up call. That being said, she's not still ready to forgive him, I mean he STABBED her! But at the same time, this is a new chapter in their lives, they have a daughter to love now, and Rhy is going to need their help.
> 
> The next chapter she gets her first taste of war and it's going to be so, so, bitter. I hope you guys haven't been thinking that Tyrion was been sleeping over at King's Landing. Tyrion is going to become the person that he's always hated this book: his father, and he's going to do some really awful things.
> 
> Rhy is going to learn, rather quickly, that saying she can lead and actually doing it are going to be two different things. The path to the throne is going to be painted with blood, let the war begin!
> 
> Comment Goal to unlock chapter early: 30


	29. CHAPTER XXVIII: SLAUGHTER IN BLACKWATER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared to cry in this chapter

The bed creaked as Rhyaenna arched her back, spreading her legs a bit wider for Vyreo to thrust deeper. The air was filled with the erotic music of her soft cries of pleasure, Vyreo’s groans, and the wet slapping of skin. The Braavosi Lord fisted his wife’s hair, his other hand gripping her waist tightly to hold her securely as he took her from behind hard and passionately.

“I’m going… to fucking kill Corren… for almost losing you in that damn snow,” Vyreo grunted.

“Complain later,” Rhyaenna panted. “Fuck me now…”

Vyreo removed his hands from her hair and waist, rolling Rhyaenna onto her back. Gripping her waist, he lifted himself on his knees and spread her legs on either his; thus, giving Vyreo better access.

“By the gods, I missed this…” he said, palming at her breast, rolling the pink nub between his fingers.

Vyreo had taken Rhyaenna to bed almost the moment she had returned, and while normally he could forget everything but the feel of her body; something was buzzing around in the back of his mind.

Her father.

Unlike Corren, Vyreo had only recently heard about this Jon Snow. Yet, Vyreo knew one thing that he knew for sure about the man: Vyreo wanted to kill him.

This was the man who had killed his Queen and by extension his lover. If Daenerys had stayed dead, then Vyreo would have never met Rhyaenna; the thought infuriated him.

“Vyreo?” Rhyaenna said.

Vyreo looked down at his Lover, how unearthly beautiful she looked with her long hair fanned out over the pillows, her violet eyes glowing in the low light.

“Huh?” Vyreo said.

“Are you lost in thought again?” Rhyaenna asked.

Vyreo shook his head. “What? No, I’m fine.”

Rhyaenna sat up, her long hair cascading over her breasts. “My love, I can tell and feel when your mind is in another place. Tell me, what is the matter?”

Vyreo carefully pulled out of her and sat at her side, shrugging. “How can you have him here?”

“Who?” Rhyaenna asked.

“The man who killed you and your mother. Your father,” Vyreo replied.

Rhyaenna sighed, sitting back on the plump pillows. “It’s… it’s complicated. He helped create me… without him, I wouldn’t be here, Vyreo.”

“In more ways than one,” Vyreo snorted.

Rhyaenna elbowed him hard, although she knew that it wouldn’t hurt him. “Vyreo… Look, I know that it’s hard to hear. If he had abused my mother, treated her badly, I would have slit his throat the moment I saw him. But Mother loves him, has for years. I left his fate in her hands, and apparently, she didn’t kill him so I don’t know what she wants to do with him.”

“And if she kills him?” Vyreo asked.

“Then I’ll stand by her side,” Rhyaenna replied. “Just as she had done with me.” She shook her head. “But listen, enough about my parents, I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

Vyreo arched an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

Rhyaenna began to nervously play with her fingers. “I… I want to consider… having a child.”

Vyreo’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

Rhyaenna took a deep breath. “When I was in the North, I made an oath to the Manderly’s. I promised them to be the Guardian’s of Winterfell until I bear a child, which will then take the Stark name. Look, I know it’s too early to think about it maybe but… we could at least try, or… maybe practice…?”

Vyreo looked at her, a mighty queen-to-be with seven dragons at her beck and call, humbly asking her husbands on their thoughts on giving her a child. It was also adorable how she was fiddling with her fingers, and looking at him from under her lashes.

“What does Corren say?” Vyreo asked.

“Corren said that he would do whatever you agreed too,” Rhyaenna replied. “We will have to figure out the nights… move them closer together in time to increase my chances of having child…”

“Or,” Vyreo said, cupping her breast. “We could begin to share a bed together, the three of us…”

Rhyaenna shuddered at his touch. “W…What do you mean?”

Vyreo laid onto his back, pulling her on top of him, stroking her dripping nethers with his cock. “First: I wouldn’t be fucking Corren, I’d be fucking you.” He slid into her with a low groan. “Second: I’ll think of it as a competition, on who can bring you to climax faster.”

Rhyaenna’s head tilted back with a moan as he gripped her hips and she began to rock. “And… the third?”

Vyreo slid one of his hands to her breasts. “I’ll get more time with you… Plus I heard rumors that the Dornish are the most sexually liberal people on the planet, surely he wouldn’t mind.”

Rhyaenna giggled, leaning down and kissing him deeply. “I’ll ask him tomorrow. Now, let me see if I can make you cry out my name again…”

* * *

The following morning Rhyaenna sat in the Chamber of the Painted Table, overlooking letters brought by ravens while she was gone. She was deliciously sore from her night with Vyreo and had a small platter of meat, cheese, and water wine to break her fast.

_‘If I’m to become with child I’m going to have to stop drinking wine…’_ Rhyaenna thought bitterly. _‘Such a shame, the Honey Spiced Wine from Dorne has quickly become my favorite…’_

The doors opened and Rhyaenna saw her Mother enter, giving her daughter a warm smile. Daenerys walked over and kissed Rhyaenna’s cheek before taking her seat next to her.

“A lot of ravens came while you were gone,” Daenerys said. “I didn’t open them.”

“You can and should,” Rhyaenna said, offering her mother the platter of food. “You’re unofficially my Hand.”

Daenerys shook her head to refuse the platter. “I’m an Advisor, that is all. You need to get yourself a proper Hand, someone who knows the realm already.”

“It’s not like I can put an advertisement for a Hand,” Rhyaenna replied. “But I’ll figure it out.” She turned to her mother with a small smile. “So…”

“So, what?” Daenerys asked, arching an eyebrow.

Rhyaenna rested her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands. “How did your night go with Father? Did you two… ‘make up’ for lost time?”

Daenerys’s face grew as red as a tomato. “R-Rhyaenna Targaryen! What are you asking!”

“I’m asking if you and Father fucked, Mother!” Rhyaenna said bluntly. “I know Vyreo and I made up for a lost time, damn can I hardly even walk.”

Daenerys’s face grew redder. “Rhyaenna, what happens in my personal life is none of your concern! If you must know, the answer is no. Your father and I are taking things slow, as all relationships should be.”

Rhyaenna scoffed, sitting back in her chair. “That’s so boring. You would think people such as you two should be locked in your chambers for a week, now that you’ve seen each other again.”

“Rhy, there is more to relationships than just sex, you know,” Daenerys said. “And there is the tiny matter in which your father stabbed me. Or had you forgotten?”

It was a time such as these that really showed Rhyaenna’s age to her Mother. The young Princess was still only nineteen years of age, her twentieth Nameday within the week. She was still a child in a sense, a very mature child, but a child none the less.

“Besides,” Daenerys continued. “We both have changed so much in these twenty years. We’re practically strangers, we need time to get to know each other again.”

Rhyaenna reached over and took her Mother’s hands in hers. “I’m sure that you’ll figure it out. And if you want me to slit his throat, hell, I’ll have Vyreo sharpen the knife.”

Both women burst into laughter, the two of the last three Targaryen’s in the world.

The door opened again, and this time Jon entered, the man taking in the two most important women in his life: his former lover, and the daughter they had created together.

“Good morning,” Jon said, nodding to the women.

“Good morning,” Rhyaenna said,

Daenerys said nothing and instead moved closer to Rhyaenna, clearly showing Jon that she still didn’t trust him.

“I um… didn’t know who to talk too about breaking my fast,” Jon said. “I um… I also slept in the servant’s quarters, as I did not know what chambers to take.”

“I’ll have a chamber fixed for you,” Rhyaenna said. “And you can eat this, Mother and I aren’t hungry. I’m still tired from last night, Vyreo was quite passionate in his effort to make up for a lost time.”

Jon flinched and Rhyaenna rolled her eyes, laughing.

“I’m surprised you’re so prude, Father,” she said. “I would think that up in the North you’d have nothing to do but have ‘fun’ because of all that snow.”

“Rhyaenna,” Daenerys exclaimed. “Please! I’m begging you!”

Rhyaenna burst into giggles. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Mother, you are such a…”

The door to the Painted Table burst open and Corren rushed inside, followed by Vyreo.

“We have a problem,” Corren said, giving a small letter to Rhyaenna. “A big, big, problem. This was intercepted from a raven on its way from King’s Landing.”

Rhyaenna took the letter and broke the seal, looking it over.

**_My Lord Stokeworth,_ **

_We have captured the traitor Lord Velaryon under the command of Lord Hand Tyrion. We are bringing him to you, at Castle Stokeworth within a fortnight.”_

**_Signed, Lord Rykker._ **

Rhyaenna crumbled the letter in her hands in fury. “Those bastards!”

Daenerys took the letter, looking it over. “Something doesn’t sound right. How could these people have captured Lord Velaryon? They are in control of the largest island in Blackwater Bay. It makes better sense that they captured Lord Celtigar.”

“It doesn’t matter which of our allies they captured,” Rhyaenna argued. “What matters is that these men think themselves bold enough to do so. And on the command of Tyrion, at least we know that the Imp wasn’t sleeping at King’s Landing all this time. Where is Stokeworth Castle?”

Corren looked at the painted table and pointed to a lamb-shaped icon on the map. “Right here, about a hundred miles north of King’s Landing.”

“Then that’s where we will go,” Rhyaenna said. “And we will hit them hard, and we will hit them fast.”

Daenerys looked at her daughter. “Rhy, I understand your frustration, but you need a plan. You can’t act without a plan.”

“I have a plan Mother,” Rhyaenna countered. “I will take our army and attack them. With our dragons, we will hit them hard, and they will have a choice but to bend the knee.”

“I agree with your mother, Rhyaenna,” Jon said, speaking for the first time. “To go into battle without a plan will only cause calamity. Not only that, but it could cost lives that could have been saved.”

“I hate to agree with him,” Vyreo said through clenched teeth. “But he is right. Not only that, but I have only recently begun to formally train our armies. It takes time and energy to make them fight as a unified front, rather than a jumbled mess, and we haven’t had enough time. They aren’t ready.”

“We can not leave Lord Velaryon in the hands of those traitors,” Rhyaenna snapped, her child-like temper showing. “I have Velaryon blood in my veins which makes him family, and that means I can not allow him to rot in their cells.” She stood up. “Corren, ready our armies to leave at daybreak.”

Corren looked nervously to Vyreo, Daenerys, and Jon, then back to Rhyaenna. “Rhy…”

“Have you all turned against me?” Rhyaenna exclaimed. “We are leaving and we are leaving in the morning. I am the queen, I order it!”

Daenerys looked to Jon, but the Northern Lord said nothing. Vyreo’s hands clenched and unclenched his hands before he took a deep breath.

“Alright, I’ll ready our soldiers,” Vyreo said.

“We shouldn’t need many,” Corren said. “According to my research House, Stokeworth and House Rykker’s armies are about five thousand in number.”

“Then we will take seven thousand then,” Rhyaenna said, happy that they had finally agreed with her. “And leave the other fifteen hundred here, to guard Mother, Father, and Dragonstone.”

Dragonstone could only house so many men, even though the total army that Rhyaenna controlled thanks to Corren was close to forty thousand.

Daenerys still was silent. This was a bad idea, she could feel it in her gut, but she knew that she couldn’t change Rhyaenna’s mind once it was set on something.

* * *

The army left the following morning, as Rhyaenna had wanted, but as Daenerys stood watching the ships leave, the uneasy feeling didn’t leave.

“Our daughter is… something, isn’t she?” Jon asked, appearing at her side.

“That’s the nice way of saying it,” Daenerys said, crossing her arms. “The girl was a bitch the other day.”

Jon chuckled softly. “I recall a young woman, about twenty years ago, who had the same mindset.”

“I had a Hand to tech my impulses,” Daenerys countered. “To bad the same Hand would later convince my lover to kill me.”

Jon flinched. “Let’s um… let’s not talk about that. What we should talk about is that letter. Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“I do,” Daenerys said. “House Stokeworth’s sigil is the lamb, they hardly if ever enter any wars. House Rykker maybe, but never House Stokeworth.”

“Perhaps something could be found in Aegon’s Archives?” Jon suggested. “I’m sure your ancestor kept meticulous records on the House.”

Daenerys nodded. “Let’s go and see.”

The two of them walked briskly to the Archives, books, scrolls, and tomes from the age of Aegon the Conqueror lining the walls. Daenerys was surprised that Stannis Baratheon didn’t destroy this place when he used to live here, then again, she figured he wasn’t the reading type.

For the next couple of hours, Daenerys and Jon looked through book after book, trying to find anything about the House’s of the Crownlands. As they looked over the books, Daenerys caught Jon stealing glances at her, and she found herself doing the same.

They were alone together in Dragonstone. Yes, there were servants and the fifteen-hundred soldiers left to protect them, but they were still alone none the less.

In their past, moments alone would mean these books would have been on the floor and Daenerys herself with had been on the table, Jon undoing his breeches. Now, a sense of mistrust as ride as a river was between them. The mistrust more-so on Daenerys’s side than Jon.

But Daenerys still didn’t know if she could trust him.

This was the same man who had declared his love to her, right before he had driven his dagger into her heart. Yet, at the same time, this was the man who had given her, her daughter.

_‘Gods, help me…’_ Daenerys thought, forcing herself to look back at her books.

It was starting to darken outside when Jon finally found the book that they were looking for.

It was an ancient book in which the various House’s of the Crownlands were listed. Within the book were the names of House Massey, Rykker, Stokeworth and Sunglass.

“Oh no,” Jon said, standing to his feet. “Oh no, oh no, oh no!”

“What?” Daenerys asked, hurrying to his side. “What’s the matter?”

Jon pointed to the page in front of him and Daenerys turned to it, reading it over.

**_… In a time of great trouble. The Houses Massey, Rykker, Stokeworth and Sunglass were known keepers of the Unbreakable Vow. If summoned by their lord and king, they will unite their armies to defend him and do his bidding…_ **

The blood drained from Daenerys’s face. “I knew that letter didn’t feel right! According to this book,” she picked up another book. “Together, the House’s can summon an army of almost twenty-thousand strong.”

“And if they’re being funded by Tyrion and have his support then it’s going to be the even greater number,” Jon said.

“They’re walking into a trap…” Daenerys whispered. “They’re doomed.”

* * *

In the clouds above her ships, Rhyaenna felt the wind in her hair as she rode on the back of Aenerys. The she-dragon flew in the clouds above the ships, giving Rhyaenna glances of the ground below. Marching down there was their army, well a section of it. Rhyaenna still hadn’t figured out what to do exactly with most of her army that was still in Dorne, but she’d figure it out sooner or later.

_‘Was I wrong for diving into battle too soon without a plan?’_ Rhyaenna asked Aenerys.

_‘Of course,’_ Aenerys replied. _‘You are brash and unwilling to bend in matters you set your mind too. That’s going to have to change Rhyaenna. You were also quite rude to your parents.’_

_‘I didn’t mean too,’_ Rhyaenna sighed. _‘I just… I just want this conquest to be over. I’ve waited two-and-a-half years to get to Westeros. Once I got here, it feels like it’s going so slowly.’_

_‘Patience always yields the best results,’_ Aenerys said. _‘You need to take your time in this conquest, or else you’re going to make several key mistakes.’_

_‘That’s easier said than done…’_ Rhyaenna said.

The Princess held up her hand to block out the glare of the sun, and when she lowered her hand she frowned. Littered on the ground were several clusters of small dots, dots… that looked to strategic to herds of animals or villages.

_‘Aenerys, can you get a little lower so that I can see what those dots are?’_ Rhyaenna asked. _‘But don’t be seen.’_

Aenerys nodded and dipped her head down, using the clouds as a shield as she did as instructed. As Rhyaenna got a better view, all the blood drained from her face.

The clusters on the ground weren’t just normal dots… they were people. Armed men hiding behind boulders and hills, ready to leap out and take her army by surprise. And what was even worse was these this arm was four times the size of hers.

_‘Oh, my gods,’_ Rhyaenna gasped. _‘It’s a trap… Aenerys, we have to turn back around and tell Vyreo!’_

On the ground below, Vyreo and Corren were leading Rhyaenna’s army to the chosen spot for battle. Their men matched in an easily breakable line, not the uniform front that Vyreo had tried to teach them. Most of the men were still unsure of Rhyaenna, as they didn’t see a woman that they loved, just a new ruler who wanted to carve a bloody path to the throne.

“I wish that Rhyaenna would have given me more time to train the men,” Vyreo said to Corren.

“I wish she would have listened to us when we said that the letter was suspicious,” Corren replied. “We needed a better plan than to just go blindly into battle and…”

Vyreo held up his hand, signaling for the army to stop. Something was wrong…

The army stood in the center of a large bowl-like valley, a place that wouldn’t give them much protection if they were attacked. The air was silent, there wasn’t any sound of birds chirping or the mooing of cattle, everything was quiet… quite.

“I don’t like this,” Corren said, looking to Vyreo.

“I agree,” Vyreo said, his hand going to his sword. “I don’t like this either…”

“VYREO!” a loud voice shouted, cutting through the silence. “Vyreo, up here!”

Vyreo looked up into the clouds and saw Rhyaenna, flying towards them on her dragon.

“It’s a trap!” Rhyaenna yelled. “It’s a…”

An arrow flew at her from behind a tree, although thankfully it bounced off her Valyrian steel shoulder armor. It made Rhyaenna jerk with a yelp, thanking the gods that she was strapped into Aenerys’s saddle.

Men from all sides appeared, wearing the sigils of the House’s Massey, Rykker, Stokeworth, and Sunglass. They charged at the unprepared army, weapons at the ready.

What happened next could only be described as a slaughter.

The inexperienced and ill-prepared men were like fish at the bottom of a barrel, unable to escape. The combined forces of the House’s of the Crownlands were just too many to overcome. The ground became soaked with their blood, watering the grass below.

In the skies above, Rhyaenna flew on the back of Aenerys, trying to find an opening yet unwilling to unleash her dragon’s fire. Because of the chaos, Rhyaenna was afraid to use Aenerys in battle as she feared to burn her own men alive. It was hard to tell who was who in the confusing melee. Finally, Rhyaenna saw what she believed was a break, and she directed Aenerys toward the location.

“Drak—” Rhyaenna began, only to stop when she saw Vyreo and Corren.

Her husbands were in the thick of the battle, fighting side-by-side. Vyreo was dual-wielding his twin blades and Corren was fighting with Dawn, but it was clear to Rhyaenna that they were close to being overrun.

“Fall back!” Vyreo was yelling to his remaining men. “Fall back!”

The men who heard him did as instructed, but some didn’t, and those were the men that got picked off by arrows or stabbed in the stomach by the rival army.

Not knowing what else to do, Rhyaenna told Aenerys to tuck in her wings and dive. Doing as ordered, the dragon dived down at breakneck speed, only to pull her wings out at the last second. This created a powerful burst of wind that sends men and horses flying back, giving the break that Rhyaenna needed.

“Come on!” she shouted to Corren and Vyreo, holding out her hands for them to grab.

“Go,” Vyreo said, stabbing a Rykker-man in the throat. “I’ll hold them off.”

Aenerys swung her tail, knocking several more men out of the way as Corren climbed upon her back. He held onto Rhyaenna’s waist and then nodded, Rhyaenna turned back to Vyreo, holding out her hand.

Vyreo slashed at one last mand before scrambling to get onto Aenerys’s back, the dragon flapping her wings to get airborne. Aenerys had only pushed herself off the ground only to let out a shriek of pain, as a spear lodged itself into her inner wing. Still young, she didn’t have the protective scales such as her sire in the most vulnerable parts. The sharp pain made Aenerys jerk, and Vyreo, who wasn’t securely holding to her spines, was bucked off.

“NNNNOOO!” Rhyaenna screamed as Vyreo fell to the ground, landing on a pile of bodies. “Aenerys, turn back!”

“Rhy, we have to go,” Corren said, holding onto his wife to prevent her from jumping off of the dragon’s back. “If we stay here, we’ll all be killed. Vyreo will be alright.”

Rhyaenna looked down at the bodies and saw Vyreo sit up, holding his head. Vyreo was a survivor, he would find a way to make it back to Dragonstone.

“We need to go someplace safe,” Rhyaenna sniffed, looking to Corren. “But where?”

“Storm’s End isn’t that far from here,” Corren said. “Lord Gendry was a supporter of your Mother’s, maybe he can help.”

“Tell me… Tell me where to go and I’ll direct Aenerys,” Rhyaenna said, rubbing the tears in her eyes.

Five thousand men set out to defend Rhyaenna’s ally, only one thousand survived and it was all Rhyaenna’s fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was terrible!
> 
> But Rhy had to learn the harsh truths of ruling and battle. There is a BIG difference between saying that you can lead men into battle, and actually doing it. This lesson has been bitter, very bitter, but Rhy has to learn.
> 
> In the next chapter, we are traveling to the Stormlands to meet Gendry... and his daughter Arya.


	30. CHAPTER XXIX: THE QUESTION OF HONOR

Arya Baratheon was going to murder her brother. Although the walls of Storm’s End were thick, noise traveled easily through the ancient halls. The deep moans and overly dramatic shrieks of pleasure told Arya that her brother, Robert, had a nightly guest.

_‘Mother would mourn him deeply,’_ Arya thought to herself. ‘ _Father, not so much.’_

The Stormlands Lady couldn’t stop herself from smirking as she laughed, imagining her parent’s reactions when word reached them of Robert’s death. Her Mother, Leyanna Penrose, would instantly dress in black; and shriek and wail like a ghost. Her father, Gendry Baratheon, would mourn for about a month, before giving the title of Heir of Stormsend to his favorite child: her.

Unable to take the noise anymore, Arya rose from her bed, picked up a candlestick, and walked to her brother’s chamber. The flamboyant noise got louder and louder with each step, grinding Arya’s nerves.

She knocked on the door and opened it, only to be greeted by the milk-white back of a servant girl who had caught Robert’s fancy.

“Sister?” Robert said, pulling his face from the Servant Girl’s breasts. “What are you doing up this time of night?”

“I’m supposed to be asleep,” Arya said, gritting her teeth. “But frequent… clamor had made that quite difficult.”

Robert tossed back his head in laughter as he sat up, but kept the Servant Girl in his lap. “Dear, sweet sister, it’s not safe for you to be wondering the halls. Someone might snatch you.”

“Only to find my dagger in their heart as payment for their troubles,” Arya snapped.

“Dagger?” the Servant Girl repeated, her eyes wide with fright.

Robert kissed her neck. “Don’t worry love. Sweet Arya here, favors herself a warrioress. Even though we both know that she will end up a Lady.”

Arya’s face was blank, the young woman having learned a long time ago to not let Robert’s teasing bother her. “If Mother has her way, perhaps. It’s a good thing that Father might have other plans for me.”

“There is no escaping the fate of a Highborn Lady, such as you,” Robert said. “You will marry one of Father’s bannermen to keep the peace, just as he did with Mother. And as for me, I am set to become the next King of Westeros.”

Arya arched an eyebrow. “Not if this, Rhyaenna Targaryen has anything to say about it. Father said that King Bran has recognized her as the trueborn daughter of Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow. Her claim is stronger than you'll ever be.”

Robert’s face grew red, Arya’s desired effect. Robert always became furious when it was whispered he might loose his ‘birthright’, of the Throne of Westeros.

“Grandfather was King of Westeros,” Robert spat. “He took it from the Targaryen’s, limiting them to only two surviving members.”

“And yet he missed the one right under his nose, and they bore a child,” Arya said casually.

Robert ground his teeth. “Are you done here, Sister? Or are you just here to annoy me?”

“No, No, I’m finished,” Arya said. “Go back to enjoying your… friend.”

Turning on her heel, Arya left Robert’s chambers. She hadn’t gotten far when she began to laugh, unable to help herself.

Robert was a fool, everyone in the Stormlands expects their mother could see that. He was selfish, spoiled, a drunkard, was cruel to the servants unless he was fucking them, and was a man-whore. Robert had already fathered three bastards within the castle, with another servant girl carrying his fourth in her belly that was due within the next couple of months. He had none of the qualities of what a king should have.

It didn’t make sense to Arya why her Father was pushing so hard for Robert to become king. Then again, for all she knew, it might be her mother’s doing; Arya didn’t know exactly.

As she wondered the palace, a light in the aviary caught her attention. The aviary wasn’t that far from her own chambers, and Arya’s feet took her in that direction.

The young servant boy in charge of watching over the ravens was just taking a letter from one’s leg when Arya entered. The moment that He saw her, the Servant Boy scrambled to his knees in a deep bow.

“M-M-My Lady,” He stammered. “Y-You shouldn’t be wondering these halls alone.”

“So, I’ve been told,” Arya said dryly, turning to the letter. “What’s that?”

“I-I don’t know,” the Servant Boy said. “It just arrived and…”

“Let me see it,” Arya demanded, holding out her hand.

The Servant boy knew better than to argue with his Lady and gave her the letter.

Arya looked it over, her eyes were drawn instantly to the combined wolf and dragon head sigil upon the seal.

_‘This has to be from Rhyaenna Targaryen_ ,’ Arya thought, quickly breaking the seal to read it over.

**_To Lord Gendry Baratheon of Stormsend,_ **

_My army went to defend one of my allies and we were defended in battle. One of my husbands is held captive, and I will not let this stand. However, it as long way to Dragonstone. I implore you, on the oath of loyalty you swore to my Mother, Queen Daenerys, that you grant myself and my remaining men shelter._

_Signed,_

**_Rhyaenna of the House’s Targaryen and Stark_ **

Arya’s heart had frozen in her chest.

The Young Woman couldn’t believe that she was holding this letter, nor could she believe in its contents. Rhyaenna had gone onto the battle and lost, for which Arya didn’t understand because she thought that she woman had dragons.

‘Maybe she didn’t bring them with her, that day,’ Arya thought. ‘But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I need to reply to this Letter.’

Arya knew that the right thing to do was to take it to her Father. It was addressed to Gendry, and thus he should be the one to reply to it.

Yet, Arya also knew that her Father would be conflicted on what to do. Growing up, Arya had listened to her Father tell her stories about the Dragon Queen, her King of the North Lover, and how they saved the living world from the Army of the Dead. He told Arya stories on how this same Dragon Queen legitimized him and named him Lord of the Stormlands, as the last living Baratheon. He also told Arya stories about his first true love, Arya Stark, of how she turned down his marriage proposal and was her namesake. Gendry had nothing but support for Daenerys, but at the same time, he was loyal to the crown: a crown that Bran Stark now wore.

Arya knew what she had to do. Picking up a pen, she wore a quick reply and then ordered the Servant Boy to get her some wax. Pressing her family ring into the seal, she waited to the wax to harden before she handed it to the boy.

“Send this back with the raven that brought this letter,” she commanded.

The Boy took the letter with trembling fingers. “W-What will your Father say?”

“I will handle my Father,” Arya said, stuffing the original letter into her pocket. “Just do as I command.”

**✵✵✵**

Back at the desolate Crownlands, Vyreo felt someone tugging on his body. The Braavosi Lord’s eyes instantly snapped open, his hand shooting out to grab a young woman’s hand. The brown-haired Woman let out a loud squeal of pain and fright, her eyes full of panic.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” she begged. “I was just trying to help you!”

Vyreo frowned and looked around, realizing that he was inside of a small cottage. A crackling fire was nearby, where most of Vyreo’s armor hung, save for his smallclothes that was still on his body.

“Where am I?” Vyreo demanded. “What are you doing?”

The Woman swallowed the lump in her throat. “I-I found you when the other Smallfolk were stripping the dead, from the battle in which the Dragon Princess lost.”

“Stripping the dead?” Vyreo repeated, trying to sit up only to groan in pain.

Vyreo’s whole body ached, and his head felt as if a blacksmith was beating it against an anvil. With much difficulty, the Young Man was able to remember flashes of what had happened.

He remembered Rhyaenna, Corren and their army arriving in the Crownlands.

He remembered their terrible defeat, the slaughter that had commenced.

He remembered climbing on the back Aenerys, only to get accidentally bucked off when a spear pierced an unprotected part in her scales.

He remembered falling, landing on a pile of bodies, the world going black, and that was all.

“What… What happened, after the battle?” Vyreo asked.

“The Lord’s gave us Smallfolk permission to strip the dead,” the Young Woman replied. “But also told us to bring anyone alive to them, and they’d pay us five silver stags each. You were fighting for the Dragon Princess, yes?”

“Yes… I was,” Vyreo said, instantly suspicious of her. “What stopped you from turning me in?”

The Woman looked down at her belly, and Vyreo, for the first time realized that she was pregnant. “My husband and I married seven months ago. Lord Rykke came and demanded his First Night’s right. When my husband refused, Lord Rykke killed him and claimed my virginity by force. That is the world that us Smallfolk live in, under King Bran. Is it true that your queen desires to help us?”

Vyreo nodded. “Yes, that is true. Rhyaenna wants to make your lives better, that is one of the reasons she came to Westeros.”

“Although most only cite the Mand King in their hatred of Targaryen’s, we remember the good ones. We worshiped King Jaehaerys and his wife Alysanne,” the Young Woman said.

“It was King Jaehaerys who outlawed First Night, right?” Vyreo asked.

The Young Woman nodded. “Yes. He stopped the terror we Smallfolk we live under. All the Highborn forgets us.”

“Rhyaenna won’t do that,” Vyreo swore. “She’s kind. Her mother helped the poor in Meereen, she will help you here.”

The Young Woman looked away a moment, before turning back to him. “I hope that you are right… You can stay until your wounds are healed.”

Vyreo nodded. “Thank you. How did you get me here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My Brother helped me drag you here,” the Young Woman replied. “He stepped out to get firewood.”

Vyreo laid back on the bed and closed his eyes. His dreams were of Rhyaenna, his mind wondering where she might be.

_‘Could she had traveled back to Dragonstone?’_ Vyreo wondered to himself. _‘How the hell am I going to get a boat there? I’m in enemy territory. I’ll be captured and killed if I do anything like that. I need to be disguised…”_

Vyreo didn’t know how long he slept, but when he woke the sun was high in the sky. The Young Woman’s Brother had returned and was sitting in a chair by the fireplace. He was eyeing Vyreo is clear distrust, but Vyreo knew that was to be expected; after all, he was a stranger in their home.

“How long has it been since you found me?” Vyreo asked.

“I found you three days ago,” The Brother replied.

“Any news about the Dragon Princess?” Vyreo asked.

“I heard some of the Rykke soldiers saying that she was headed to the Stormlands or something like that,” the Brother replied with a shrug. “I can’t fully remember.”

‘The Stormlands. Alright, that at least gives me a closer, less suspicious, destination,’ Vyreo thought.

Vyreo opened his mouth to ask another question, only to be silenced by the thunder of horse’s hooves. The Brother’s eyes filled with fear as he ran to the armor that hung by the fireplace. Grabbing them, the Brother ran to a cabinet, stuffing them inside.

“Lord Rykker’s Men,” the Brother said. “I have to hide you. I have to go find Mari!”

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Vyreo forced himself to sit up, swinging his legs over the side of a small cot.

“Do you have a change of clothes that I can borrow?” Vyreo asked. “Get some soot from the fire, I need to disguise myself.”

Working quickly—yet also carefully—Vyreo changed into the Brother’s spare set of a cotton shirt and breeches. Tying his breeches up with a piece of rope, Vyreo forced himself to stand up, although his body was screaming in agony.

“I will help you,” Vyreo said, slowly walking after the Brother.

“You can not speak to anyone,” The Brother said, the two of them leaving the house. “Your accent will give you away.”

Vyreo held up his hand to prevent from being blinded by the sun, but he nodded his agreement.

A couple of a dozen soldiers had charged into the small village, all wearing crossed Warhammer sigil of House Rykker.

Following the Brother’s command, Vyreo said nothing, and kept his eyes downcast, following him around as they tried to locate the missing Mari.

“Something isn’t right,” The Brother said. “I can’t find Mari anywhere…”

“Perhaps she is hiding someplace?” Vyreo whispered, keeping his voice low.

The Brother shook his head. “No, that can’t be…”

“There he is!” A Rykker-man barked, pointing at the Brother. “Seize him!”

The Brother froze, in surprise. He struggled against the soldiers that grabbed him, although they dragged him to the Townsquare. The other Smallfolk, who had been roused by the noise, began to follow them curious.

Vyreo looked around. No one had noticed him; it would be easy for Vyreo to escape. But the honorable side of him knew that he couldn’t abandon them. Keeping his head down, Vyreo blended in with the crowd. He followed them to the Townsquare, and the scene before him made Vyreo’s blood grow cold.

The Brother and his sister, Mari, were both bound and gagged by the Rykker soldiers, although the Brother looked to had taken a serious beating. Mari was sobbing, only to be slapped by a soldier.

“What’s going on?” a man asked Vyreo.

Remembering his accent might give him away, Vyreo shrugged as if he was mute.

“Silence!” the Commander of the Soldiers barked to the crowd. “We have come here today, sent by Lord Rykker. It has come to My Lord’s attention that we have a highly valuable captive in this village.”

He held up a ring, which Vyreo had to squint to realize that it was the ring that Rhyaenna had given him. It bore both their seals, practically another giveaway to his identity.

“The keeper of this Ring belongs to my Lord,” the Commander continued. “We gave you permission to strip the dead, as long as you brought those found alive to us.” He pointed to Mari and her Brother. “These two were seen dragging a living body back to their home, which we received confirmation from several eyewitnesses. However, Lord Rykker is not without mercy. If they tell us where the man is, we will release them alive, and give them a small fortune in compensation.

The Brother looked at Vyreo, and his heart froze in his chest.

**✵✵✵**

Arya glanced at her father, watching as he read over reports of his vassals and the yields of their crops. She and her family had gathered in her father’s office to break their fast together, a tradition that Gendry had grown up with. Normally, noble families broke their fast’s in their chambers, but Gendry used the time to talk and spend time with his family.

“Anything of interest, Father?” Arya asked, trying to ignore the letter burning a hole in her pocket.

“Nothing really,” Gendry replied.

“Not that it would be any of your business anyway Sister,” Robert said, letting out a loud belch that made everyone but his Mother frown. “Ruling a castle is not your place.”

“I know more about the Smallfolk than you do, Robert,” Arya shot back. “Which says a lot about their future Lord of Stormsend.”

Robert slammed his fist on the table. “How many times must I tell you, I will be King of Westeros! Not Lord of a tiny, meaningless castle!”

Gendry’s face grew dark. “Stormsend might be meaningless to you, but it’s been home to Baratheon’s for over three-hundred years.”

“Grandfather called the Red Keep home,” Robert shot back. “I plan to follow in his footsteps.”

“Not is Rhyaenna Targaryen has anything to say about it,” Arya blurted out. “She’s on her way here now!”

Gendry lowered his papers, frowning. “What… What did you just say?”

Arya’s face grew red. “I-I said… that Rhyaenna Targaryen is on her way now to Stormsend, and we should help her.”

The table was silent, no one moved, no one breathed. Everyone’s faces were a mixture of expressions: Gendry was shocked, Leyanna was horrified, and Robert was murderous.

“You… Bitch…” Robert said through gritted teeth. “What the fuck have you done?”

Arya held her head high, although a lump had formed in her throat. “I… I did what was right. A letter came the other night, and I answered it. Rhyaenna Targaryen is the rightful Queen of Westeros. King Bran said that she is the trueborn daughter of Daenerys and Jon Snow, Father, you said that he said that.”

“I don’t give a fuck with what Father said!” Robert roared. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done!?”

“I’ve done what is right,” Arya shot back. “Do you really think you have the qualifications to become king?!”

“I’m the direct descendant of Robert I of Westeros!” Robert thundered.

“And she comes from an unbroken line of dragonlords who ruled this land for over three hundred years!” Arya yelled back. “She has six dragons. She has the army of Dorne, most likely going to get the support of the North, and is funded by the Iron Bank! Use the head on your shoulders for once, not the one in your breeches!”

“Enough!” Gendry roared, getting in the middle. “Enough, both of you! Robert, go to your chambers to cool off. Leyanna, my Love, please give me a moment alone with Arya.”

Robert would have flipped the table if he could, as he thundered down the halls, his coddling mother right behind him.

Gendry collapsed in his chair, groaning as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should have known that by naming you after her, you’d cause me nothing but trouble.”

“I’m sorry if I have upset you, Father,” Arya apologized, producing the letter. “I really did what I thought was best.”

Gendry’s eyes roamed over the letter and its contents before he sighed, tilting his head back.

“So… What are you going to do, Father?” Arya asked.

“I will allow her to come,” Gendry said. “She is right, I swore an oath to her Mother. But… I also swore an oath to Bran, to support him as King.”

“Father, we all know that it’s Lord Tyrion who really runs the kingdom,” Arya said gently. “And he is neither feared nor truly loved by anyone except his handful of friends. Westeros is turning into a dark place, we need a proper leader.”

Gendry nodded, looking into the face of the daughter who had named after his Lost Love. ‘Oh, Arya… where are you?’

The sound of the trumpet made Gendry and his daughter look up, as it only sounded when an army was approaching. They knew which army was approaching.

“Go and get properly washed and dressed,” Gendry instructed Arya. “Tell your Mother and Brother to do the same. Also, Arya, please, do not provoke him… much.”

Arya couldn’t stop herself from giving her father a small smirk. “Yes, Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that chapter was a GUT wrencher, wasn't it?! Poor Vyreo, could this be the end to one of Rhy'a husbands?
> 
> Next chapter, Rhy goes into a deep depression, only to come out of it when she gets a heart-shattering gift.
> 
> At the same time, we are about 2 chapters away from reintroducing a character believed to be dead. Place your guesses on who that might be! The person who gets it right will get a shout out from me when the chapter premieres!
> 
> If I get 20 comments for this chapter, I will post the next one later this week rather than in 2 weeks.


	31. CHAPTER XXX: AWAKENING THE DRAGON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> So I know that I said that I'd upload a chapter if I got 20 comments, but I've realized that I'm a grown-ass woman and can do whatever I want, lol. My upload schedule is still going to be not set in stone, but I will be uploading. I'm freer so that I can upload at least once a week, with sometimes more than 1 being posted.

Rhyaenna sat upon a horse next to Corren, her husband watching her out of the corner of his eye. His wife was pale, gaunt, her silver and black hair loose and wild. She hadn’t eaten since they had arrived in the Stormlands with their army, always insisting that she wasn’t hungry; but Corren knew what really was wrong. She was mourning Vyreo, believing him to be dead, but Corren wasn’t sure if he was ready to believe that.

If Corren knew anything about the Braavosi Nobleman, it was that he was a survivor. Vyreo would find a way back to them, Corren wasn’t sure how he would, but Vyreo wasn’t dead. Still, Corren knew that until Vyreo returned then it was just him to protect Rhyaenna.

The doors to Stormsend opened, and Gendry rode out alongside a younger man that Corren had not seen before. He recognized Gendry Baratheon from the ‘peace talks’ at the Dragonpit, the event where Tyrion tried to assassinate Rhyaenna.

 _‘Could this be another trap?’_ Corren though, his hand gripping his dagger tightly, glancing at Rhyaenna. _‘I doubt she has the energy to fight anyone right now.’_

Gendry pulled his horse to a stop about a meter away and bowed his head in respect. “Princess Rhyaenna, Lord Corren, welcome to Stormsend.”

“Thank you, Lord Gendry,” Corren said, hoping that Gendry didn’t notice the distant look in Rhyaenna’s eyes. “We hope that we shall not be here longer than is necessary.”

“Stormsend is yours, Your Grace, My Lord,” Gendry said, respectfully. “Your men will be housed and fed in the barracks, rooms have been prepared for you. Please, if you’ll follow me.”

Corren reached over and gently grasped Rhyaenna’s hands, giving her a reassuring squeeze, before he nudged his horse forward. The courtyard to Stormsend had been freshly cleaned and swept, and all the members of the household stood in front of the castle. As Rhyaenna and Corren rode in behind Gendry and the unknown man, everyone dropped to their knees in greeting.

This was the time for Rhyaenna to greet them back, to say a speech or something. But the Targaryen Princess was silent, and simply slid off the back of her horse without ceremony. Corren knew that he had to take control of the situation, and cleared his throat.

“Thank you, for allowing us to come and rest in your Castle,” Corren said, clasping his hands behind his back. “My wife and I are in your debt.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be two of you?” the young man who had ridden out with Gendry asked crassly.

Corren arched an eyebrow at his boldness. “Yes… Rhyaenna has two husbands. This is another reason why we need your help, Lord Baratheon. Vyreo has been captured by one of the House’s in Stormsend and we need to rescue him.”

Gendry stood to his feet. “My daughter mentioned something like this, but I can not give you a firm answer yet, my Lord and Your Grace. Why don’t you rest a couple of days, then we can discuss this matter?”

“Of course, My Lord,” Corren said nodding. “We will like that very much.”

“Oh, I am forgetting my manners,” Gendry said, gesturing to the three people with him. “Allow me to introduce my son, Robert. My daughter, Arya, and my wife, Leyanna Penrose.”

Everyone bowed deeply, however, Robert openly leered at Rhyaenna with a hungry look in his eyes. That was a look that Corren did not like in the slightest, and he stood closer to his wife.

“My daughter, Arya, shall attend you, Your Grace,” Gendry said. “And my son to you, My Lord. A chamber has been prepped for your arrival, and please, follow us.”

Rhyaenna was silent as they walked along the halls, her eyes downcast. When they reached their assigned chambers, Corren turned to Robert and Arya.

“Could you please direct our servants to our chambers, so that we could unpack for our stay?” Corren asked. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Arya said, giving them a small curtsy before dragging her leering brother away.

Closing the door, Corren turned to Rhyaenna only to see that his wife was curled up on the bed.

“My love…” Corren whispered, walking over to her. “Rhy…”

Rhyaenna turned away from him, silent tears sliding down her cheeks. “It’s all my fault he’s dead.”

Corren knelt at her side, placing a gentle hand on her back. “Rhy, it’s… it’s…”

Corren couldn’t exactly say that it wasn’t Rhyaenna’s fault that they had lost the majority of the army that had brought with them, that Vyreo had been lost. It was her fault. Rhyaenna had refused to listen to all sound advise when it came to the letter, a letter that had led them into a trap. Everyone was telling Rhyaenna that they needed a plan before they did anything, and Rhyaenna was overconfident in her abilities. What was the cost of their failure? The loss of most of their army and of Vyreo. Sure, they still had over thirty-thousand men in Dorne, but once news spread of this defeat, Rhyaenna would lose support.

She needed to recover from this, she needed to prove herself a capable leader.

“Rhy, I know you blame yourself, but all battles come with wins and losses. Aegon lost battles too, you know.”

“But he was a foolish girl like me,” Rhyaenna countered, finally sitting up to look at Corren. “Vyreo. Our army. All those people died because of me.”

“Vyreo is not dead,” Corren said, taking her hands in his.

“How do you know?” Rhyaenna asked.

Corren shrugged. “I just do. Vyreo isn’t the type of man who will die captured by the enemy. He will find a way back to you, you must believe it. But at the same time, you need to plan. You need to figure out what you’re going to do next.”

* * *

 

The following day, after Rhyaenna and Corren were settled, the Princess slipped from her chamber to explore the ancient castle. She needed time alone to wallow in her defeat, to let it soak in what she had done.

 _‘This is all my fault,’_ Rhyaenna though bitterly, walking among the halls. _‘Vyreo is dead because I refused to listen because I thought that this war would be easy. R’hllor, please… I beg of you, if Vyreo is alive, help him find a way back to me.’_

While not really a religious person, Rhyaenna did follow the Lord of Light, after all, he was the one that had brought her mother back to life. If there was any god with power, then it had to be him.

In her mind wonderings through the castle, Rhyaenna found herself outside in the training yard. Several stuffed faux soldiers had been set up, along with a target for archery.

“Your Grace?” a feminine voice said behind Rhyaenna.

Rhyaenna turned around, finding herself face-to-face with the daughter of Gendry, Arya, she believed her name was.

Arya tried to drop into a quick curtsy but Rhyaenna waved it away, not in the mood for formalities. Instead, Rhyaenna looked Arya over, seeing that she had a bow and arrow strapped to her back, along with a short sword at her side.

“Your father trains you in combat?” Rhyaenna asked.

Arya nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. Mother does not like it, claims that’ll lessen the prospects of me finding a husband. If only she knew how happy the thought makes me.”

Rhyaenna inclined her head. “You do not wish to marry?”

“I’m not fully sure what I want, if I’m being honest,” Arya said, shrugging as she unstrapped her bow, knocking it with an arrow. “But I know one thing, I don’t want to be no damn Lady. Guess that’s something that I and my namesake have in common.”

Rhyaenna arched an eyebrow. “Arya… Oh, you are named after my Father’s sister?”

Arya nodded, pulling the drawstring back. “The one and only. Father is still in love with her after all these years. Maybe that’s a reason why Mother can not stand to look at me, I remind her so much of Father’s first and true love.”

“Seems like both our sets of parents have troublesome romantic pasts,” Rhyaenna said, sitting down on a bench, picking up a practice sword. “Make me wonder sometimes if it’s worth it… All the pain it could bring…”

“I wouldn’t know, but it has to be,” Arya said, losing the arrow, nodding in approval when it hit the center target. “But then again you’re the person with the two husbands, must have plenty of love going around in your bed.”

“I only have one… Vyreo was killed and it’s because of me…” Rhyaenna whispered.

Arya arched an eyebrow. “Your letter said that he was captured.”

Rhyaenna smiled ruefully. “Corren wrote that letter. He claims that Vyreo is alive somewhere but…”

“You’re unsure?” Arya repeated, turning back to her target. “Permission to speak freely, Your Grace?”

“Permission granted if you stop calling me that. It gets tiring sometimes.”

Arya put down her bow and arrow and instead picked up a training sword. With Rhyaenna distracted, she swung it, not aiming to kill but could do some damage. Instinctively, Rhyaenna raised her training sword up, easily blocking it.

“Good blocking,” Arya commented with a smirk. “But that’s not going to save you.”

Gritting her teeth, Arya swung around and kicked Rhyaenna hard with her foot, sending the Dragon Princess backward. Rhyaenna doubled over in pain, but her eyes narrowed in anger, unwilling to give up. Gripping the sword tightly in her fist, Rhyaenna parried, gritting her teeth as she and Arya’s swords locked.

“You’re supposed to be descended from Aegon the Conqueror,” Arya taunted her. “Where’s this Blood of the Dragon wrath that you’re rumored to have? I don’t see a Queen of Westeros, all I see is a foolish child unworthy of the throne.”

Rhyaenna’s eyes blazed with fury. “She’s right… here!”

Striking out with her foot, Rhyaenna tripped Arya and pounced on her before the Young Woman would recover. Calling upon her years of training with Vyreo, Rhyaenna parried and blocked all of Arya’s attacks, all the while striking out with her own. For once, Rhyaenna was able to let loose her anger against herself, against her foolishness; and it felt good.

Finally, she was able to knock Arya’s blade away from her hands and pointed her own at Arya’s throat.

“Yield,” Rhyaenna commanded, panting.

Arya smiled, nodding and holding up her hands. “Alright,” she panted. “I yield, I yield. Good job, Your Grace. Although you leave your right side open a bit.”

Rhyaenna tossed away her training sword before dropping to Arya’s side, tilting her head back to catch her breath. “I’ll make sure to remember that… but what was that for?”

“For you to let go,” Arya replied. “You’re under a lot of pressure, everyone knows this. It’s alright to show off your might, but at the same time to be a good ruler you must listen to your advisors. Listening to others isn’t a sign of weakness, it’s a sign of strength. Your ancestor lost plenty of battles when he conquered Westeros, but he also won them because he had a circle of people he trusted around him. That’s what you need.”

“But I thought that I had that already,” Rhyaenna said. “I have Mother, Vyreo, and Corren.”

“But only Corren would be seen as acceptable in the eyes of the people you wish to rule,” Arya explained. “He’s from Westeros.”

“I need more people from respectable families then,” Rhyaenna said. “I need to form a Small Council.”

Arya nodded. “Exactly.”

Rhyaenna looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “Tell me this, Lady Baratheon, if you were given the chance: what would you do with your life?”

Arya sat back, thinking. “I would help change the lives of women everywhere. So many of us are used and abused by those we are supposed to call Family. Or take the Smallfolk for example, they are never fully safe.”

“And you would do something about this?” Rhyaenna asked.

Arya nodded. “I would. My Father told me about the corruption he saw in King’s Landing as a child, how the rich pissed on the poor. I would do anything to change the Laws of the Land.”

Rhyaenna’s lips curved into a small, her mouth opening to say something else, but was silenced when the doors burst open.

“Rhy,” Corren said, his face pale. “You need to come; you need to hurry.”

Rhyaenna and Arya leaped to their feet. “What’s wrong?”

“A… a package has come, delivered by a herald from Lord Rykker…” Corren said. “You… You have to see this…”

Gendry was waiting for them in his personal office, a large box sitting upon his desk. The doors opened as Rhyaenna hurried in, Arya and Corren right behind her.

“It’s… It’s addressed to you, Your Grace,” Gendry said.

Rhyaenna stepped forward, taking the letter that Gendry held.

**_To the False Queen,_ **

_By orders of Lord Tyrion, Hand of King Bran; I deliver you a present in payment for your illegal invasion in the Crownlands._

_Enjoy._

_Signed,_

**_Lord Rykker of Dun Fort_ **

Rhyaenna now turned to the large box, her hands trembling as she opened it.

* * *

 

Two heads sat upon a black satin pillow. The first one belonged to Lord Velaryon, whom Rhyaenna personally knew. The second one had long black hair and unsparing blue eyes, a signet ring resting nearby.

Rhyaenna recognized the ring as the one that Vyreo wore, as it contained both their sigils, but it wasn’t his head. It was close in appearance to Vyreo, but it wasn’t exactly him.

 _‘This must mean that he’s alive,’_ Rhyaenna thought to herself. _‘Or… I at least hope it does.’_

The head of Lord Velaryon troubled Rhyaenna the most because they were her biggest supporters in Blackwater Bay. If he was killed, then that meant his 5-year-old son was now Lord of House Velaryon, a puppet for the other rebel lords of the Crownlands.

“It’s not Vyreo,” Rhyaenna whispered, looking to Corren. “It’s not… It’s not him.”

“That’s good news,” Corren said. “Right…?”

“Not for House Velaryon,” Rhyaenna said, looking to the severed head. “This man is my family, I have Velaryon blood in my veins. My killing my kinsman, this is a declaration of war, one that cannot be ignored.”

Corren frowned. “My love…This is the same thing that you said… back on Dragonstone.”

Rhyaenna ceased talking and took a deep breath. “And I want to make the same mistake as I did before.” She turned to Gendry. “Lord Baratheon, I will not force you to help me, but I humbly ask for it. I also ask for your advice on the matter, and how you think I can overcome those who plot against me.”

“Your Grace,” Gendry said. “I fought alongside your Father against the Army of the dead. When the battle was done, your Mother legitimized me to my family’s Seat. Your family has done more for me than anyone else currently sitting in King’s Landing. My armies, my men, my arms, and my horses are at your call. I would also swear an oath but…”

Rhyaenna held up her hand. “Lord Gendry, forgive me for saying this: but I don’t want your loyalty right now.”

Gendry arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“I want to earn it,” Rhyaenna replied. “I don’t want for it to be just given to me on a silver platter. I need to earn respect.”

Gendry nodded. “It’s an honorable thing for you to say such a thing. I meant what I said though, I will help you, but I will not lead my men into a slaughter.”

Rhyaenna nodded. “Then we have to figure out a way to achieve our goal while also losing less amount of lives.”

Arya cleared her throat. “E-Excuse me, but… I have an idea.”

* * *

 

It was a blistering hot day as Lord Rykker sat on his horse next to Lord Massey. Not far from them sat Lord Sunglass and Lord Stokeworth, their combined armies of over 25-thousand strong piled upon a large hill.

Less than a day ago, they had all received letters from Gendry, challenging them all to open combat in retaliation for the death of Lord Velaryon and the presumed death of Vyreo. However, what neither of the Lord’s knew was that the second head was not Vyreo’s.

“I claim first rights with the bitch,” Lord Rykker said crassly. “Never had dragon cunt before.”

“Why should you get the first crack at her?” Lord Massey asked.

“Because I’m the Commander of this group, as well as the richest,” Lord Rykker said. “After all, it was my idea to send the heads.”

The other Lord’s rolled their eyes but said nothing. The letter from Gendry had told them to meet in the middle of a valley known as Ensworth, although the Crownland Lords had arrived first. Since they had done so, they had claimed the best spot for the battle that they had deemed fit. The valley was like a deep bowl, with a tall, wide hill that allowed the people on top to see around for miles. There weren’t any trees either in the valley, preventing rival armies from hiding and giving ambush.

In the distance, The Crownland Lord’s could see Gendry’s army marching in their direction, and it was about the same size. The Stormlands could raise an army of about 20-thousand men in number, but the Crownland Lord’s still had five thousand more.

Gendry’s army came to a stop at the base of the hill, and Lord Rykker began to chuckle.

“The fools!” he laughed. “They’ll have to fight their way uphill, which will give our archers easy pickings. This battle will be over before sundown.”

Gendry rode forward, Arya at his side, both dressed in armor. “My lords!” Gendry shouted up to the hill. “Princess Rhyaenna gives you one chance to throw down your arms. Surrender and you will be spared. Refuse, and face her wrath.”

“We do not fear a little girl!” Lord Rykker shouted back. “Where is she? Let us face us!”

Arya looked up at the sky, holding her hand up to block the sun from her eyes with a small smirk.

In the skies above, Rhyaenna flew on the back of Aenerys, hidden by the thick clouds. Holding onto the reigns, Rhyaenna leaned down to stroke Aenerys’ neck.

 _‘Are you ready?’_ Rhyaenna asked.

 _‘Of course,’_ Aenerys replied. _‘The bigger question is: are you?’_

Rhyaenna nodded, taking a deep breath to calm her swirling her emotions and to clear her head. _‘Let’s do it.’_

Tucking in her wings, Aenerys began to freefall, keeping the sun to her back. Rhyaenna had strapped herself into the saddle tightly, as to not accidentally fall out. She pressed herself close to Aenerys’s neck, closing her eyes as tightly as she could to prevent them from going flying out of her head.

Although her eyes were closed, Rhyaenna could ‘see’ through the eyes of Aenerys, and she could see that they were getting closer and closer to the ground. But for her plan to work, they could pull up, not yet.

On the ground below, one of the soldiers pointed to a figure in the sky, quickly raising the alarm to his fellow men. One by one the soldiers raised their heads, pointing and shouting, but it wasn’t until Lord Sunglass looked up, did he realized what was going on.

“Get—” was the only thing that Lord Sunglass could say.

Aenerys opened her wings out at the very last second, just as Rhyaenna screamed out: “ _Dracarys_!”

A column of red and black dragon flame exploded from Aenerys’s throat, the dragon circling the hill that the Crownland Armies had placed themselves on. Aenerys flew around them in a complete circle, before slowly winding her way up, like a spiral, leaving nothing but death and destruction in her wake.

Gendry’s armies say back, unharmed, watching the scene unfold before them. In this simple act, Rhyaenna had kept her promise: not a single one his men were killed or harmed in her attack.

On top of the hill, there was chaos. The fiery circle around the hill was unbreakable, surrounding them like a fiery hell. There was no escape, they were going to all burn to death. Their strategic and carefully selected place had become a death trap.

Lord Sunglass had been killed almost the moment that Rhyaenna had unleashed her dragon’s flames. Lord Stokeworth was frantically trying to look for an escape. Half of Lord Massey’s face was burnt off. Lord Rykker, their so-called ‘Commander’ was pale-faced and without a plan.

“What do we do?!” Lord Stokeworth wailed.

“We need to fight!” Lord Rykker bellowed.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Lord Massey yelled, fighting against losing conscience. “We need to wave the white flag! We need to surrender!”

“I’ll never surrender to a child!” Lord Rykker snarled.

“I will,” Lord Stokeworth said, yelling for his men to wave the white flag of surrender.

His men listened, frantically grabbing a white flag and waving it. Lord Massey ordered his men to do the same, and the remaining forces of Lord Sunglass quickly followed. All that left was Lord Rykker, who grits his teeth but ordered his men to wave the white flag of surrender.

Rhyaenna smirked when she saw this and ordered Aenerys to give the men an opening. The dragon lowered herself, flapping her wings to extinguish a small section of the flames so that the remaining men could leave the hellish fires.

Slowly, one by one the men left the smoky ruins of the hill, tossing their swords to the ground as they walked single file to stand before Rhyaenna and her dragon. Aenerys landed on the ground and the Princess stood on top of a large rock, watching as the men gathered before her. Lastly, the Lords Rykker, Storkworth and Massey stood before her, all but Lord Rykker looked on the ground.

“My Lords, my fellow countrymen,” Rhyaenna began. “I know your fears, I know what Lord Tyrion has told you about me, and my goals here in Westeros. That I’ve come to destroy your cites, to carve a bloody path to the throne that does not belong to me. Lord Tyrion is wrong. I did not come to Westeros to burn down your homes, murder you and orphan your children. I came to help you, by bringing knowledge from the East, we can restore Westeros to the glorious kingdom that I know it can be.”

Rhyaenna paused, letting her words sink in. The soldiers that had survived her attack still looked terrified of her, yet some’s ears seemed to have perked up. Taking this as a good sign, Rhyaenna continued.

“I’m not here to murder, and all I want is to smash the wheel that has rolled over the rich and poor alike,” Rhyaenna said. “Your children deserve to go to bed with full bellies, to never fear lawless soldiers that roam the land and ravage your homes. I offer you all a choice, here and now. Bend the knee, and I will forgive you for fighting in this war. Or refuse and die.”

The soldiers looked among themselves, unsure what to do. Lord Stokeworth, the first of the Crownland Lord’s swiftly dropped to his knees, bowing his head. Lord Massey copied him, their armies quickly doing the same as their Liege Lord’s, but only Lord Rykker stood tall.

“I will not bow to a pretender,” Lord Rykker spat, glaring daggers at Rhyaenna.

Rhyaenna’s eyes flamed with rage but she held back her fury. “That is alright, Lord Rykker. My offer was not for you anyway.”

Lord Rykker took a step back. “What… What do you mean?”

“According to the letter I received, it was signed and sealed with your signature and sigil,” Rhyaenna said. “The letter that accompanied the heads delivered to me. Lord Velaryon was my kinsman, and that second head was not my husband. You still killed a member of my family, and that is a sin that cannot be forgiven.”

Aenerys growled lowly, her ruby-red eyes glittering in the low sunlight.

Lord Rykker too ka step back, fear shooting through his body. ‘Is she going to burn me to death?’

“I know my husband will find his way back to me,” Rhyaenna said. “But what you did to Lord Velaryon is unforgivable, and you must be punished.”

“B-But my men…” Lord Rykker stammered. “My family.”

“Will be spared, as I promised,” Rhyaenna replied. “But you shall not.” She looked to Aenerys and stoked her dragon’s nose. “Don’t worry my Lord, I shall not feed you to her, or have you bathed in her fire. You’re a nobleman, and deserve an honorable and quick death.”

Arya stepped forward and held out her sword, which Rhyaenna took and began to advance upon the trembling Lord.

“I, Rhyaenna of the House’s Targaryen and Stark, rightful Queen of Westeros, sentence you to die, Lord Rykker for your crimes.”

Lord Rykker looked frantically around for a way to escape, but there was none. His men, who he had thought were loyal, turned on him, two even held him down. The execution was over in a matter of moments, the head that had once belonged to Lord Rykker rolled away in the dirt.

Rhyaenna handed the sword back to Arya. “See that he gets the burial fit for a nobleman of his status,” she instructed before turning to the remaining men. “As for the rest of you, I will keep my promise. I pardon you, for your crimes against me, if you keep your oath of loyalty to me. Food, water, and medical treatment will be made available to you, and once you feel well enough, then you can travel to your homes.”

The men all bowed once again, before being directed away by Gendry’s men.

“Well done Your Grace,” Arya said in approval, nodding. “Well done.”

Rhyaenna gave her a small smile. “I feel as if my heart is beating out of my chest.”

“Not a bad speech either,” Arya said. “Word will spread of what you did, how you gave mercy to those that plotted against you. If there’s anything that Smallfolk are good for, it’s the spreading of gossip.”

Rhyaenna nodded, only for the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. Aenerys raised her head, a low growl rumbling in her throat as she looked to Rhyaenna, a look of… worry?

 _‘What’s wrong?’_ Rhyaenna asked.

 _‘Something doesn’t feel right,’_ Aenerys replied. _‘Dragonstone… something is wrong.’_

Frowning, Rhyaenna closed her eyes briefly, ‘looking’ through the eyes of her other dragons back on Dragonstone. What she saw made her blood turn cold, the Princess running instantly to climb upon Aenerys’ back.

“What’s wrong?” Arya asked.

“Dragonstone,” Rhyaenna said, holding out her arm for Corren. “It’s under attack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a good chapter if I do say so myself. I listened to the House Targaryen theme on loop to get me into the mood to write, and it worked!!! 
> 
> Looks like Tyrion has launched his next attack but you'll have to wait to find out what is happening! Next chapter a long lost character will be returning, two long lost characters if I'm being honest. BTW, Jon & Dany have been alone on Dragonstone for some time.... don't worry, they aren't going to be sleeping with each other. Dany & Jon need to rebuild their relationship, and that's going to take some time. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I've been noticing a couple of trolling comments being posted here. I honestly love comments, as long as they are purposeful to the book. I agreed with the comment that told me that Rhy was having too easy in the land, and since then have remade a lot of the rest of the book to give Rhy a tough time. But calling Rhy a "Dumb whore who doesn't deserve to rule Westeros" doesn't really tie in with the book, nor does it have anything critiquing in it. I don't want to begin moderating comments, because I believe in letting people speak their mind, but please look over what you say. 
> 
> Until next time!


	32. CHAPTER XXXI: THE LION DOES NOT BOTHER ITSSELF WITH THE OPINIONS OF THE SHEEP… - PART 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS GUYS!! 
> 
> The first part of Tyrion's 'invasion' of Dragonstone. Rather than give you one long mega chapter, I decided to break it into 2 chapters, as a LOT is going to be happening. After this, however, the chapters are going to be getting longer, as we have about 15-20 chapters left until the book is over!!! 
> 
> I'm so sad!
> 
> But I do have a question: Would you guys like to see a sequel to this book? Wither it be the first couple of years of Rhy's reign or the reign of her children, what do you think? Honestly, I think the way that I leave the book is going to be a good enough ending, and thus there is no reason for a sequel, but I still want your opinions on it.
> 
> Anyway, happy reading!

Daenerys smiled as she rubbed Daenae’s belly, a black and cream she-dragon named after King Daeron II. It was the younger sister of Daeron—who married the Prince of Dorne at the same time as Daeron married the Prince’s sister—for whom Daenerys was named after. Although most said that she resembled Daeron’s mother, Queen Naerys, as well as Daenerys’s mother.

It was a very warm day, yet a thick mist covered Blackwater bay even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Daenerys thought it was unusual, but the Dornishmen who patrolled the castle explained that it sometimes happened.

It was a day like this in which the dragons would lay in a wide circle, bathing themselves in the golden rays, listening to Daenerys talk. Sometimes she would sing to them, sometimes she would tell them stories, either way, Daenerys found comfort in their company.

Her mind wandered to Rhyaenna, to her only child.

‘For twenty years I have not lain with another man,’ Daenerys thought. ‘Am I too old to bear another child?’

The greatest thing that Daenerys wanted in her life was a family. For the past twenty years, all she had known was Rhyaenna, she was her sole and only offspring. Yet, some part of her longed for more.

As the Queen of Meereen, Daenerys could have had any man in all of Essos. But there was only one man that she wanted in all the world, and that man killed her.

 _‘Why can I not get him out of my mind?’_ Daenerys thought angrily to herself. _‘I should hate him. I really should hate him. But… But I can’t…’_

A normal person would have slit Jon’s throat in payback for what he had done. But Daenerys couldn’t bring herself to do it. She couldn’t deny it, she still loved Jon, but he was going to have to earn back her trust, and Daenerys didn’t know how long that would take.

“Forgive the intrusion,” Jon’s voice said behind Daenerys. “But do you mind if I join you?”

Daenerys turned around, her eyes falling instantly upon a drawn Longclaw in Jon’s hand. Her heart quickened, beating loudly in her chest as she whimpered, scrambling backward.

As if sensing her fear the dragons began to stir, Visevon—a male black and gold dragon named after Queen Visenya—lifted his long neck. He turned his golden eyes upon Jon, growling in protective anger against the man who he sensed hurt his ‘grandmother’ in the past in some way.

Jon held up his hands. “I mean you no harm,” he said quickly. “I only wish to sit with you, sharpen my sword.”

“So that you can kill me with it?” Daenerys asked, backing deeper into the dragons’ embrace.

Jon’s face dropped with shock. “What…?”

“You killed me once when I let my guard down, what’s to stop you from doing it again?” Daenerys asked.

“I’m not going to kill you Daenerys,” Jon said, remembering how she asked him to not call her Dany. “I promise you that.”

“You also swore that you’d always love me…” Daenerys whispered. “And that didn’t stop you from driving your dagger into my heart.”

Jon’s lip trembled. “Daenerys… I… I’m trying. I’m trying to show you so that you can trust me. But you won’t let me in.”

“How would you react if the person you loved, the person you wanted to grow old with, killed you?” Daenerys asked. “Jon, I have to be honest with you. You were so easily manipulated by Sansa, by Tyrion, by Varys. The times that I needed you, you weren’t there.”

“I thought I was doing what was right!” Jon argued back. “A wise friend once told me that ‘Love is the death of Duty’. I loved you Daenerys, I loved you with my heart and soul, but I couldn’t let you continue on the path you had fallen onto.”

“And your decision to solve your ‘problem’ was to kill me?” Daenerys asked tears in her eyes. “Growing up, I was abused by my only living relative. I walked a thin line, fearing if I stepped the tiniest out of line, then Viserys would kill me. Do you know how it felt to know that my fears were right? My only living relative did kill me. I’ll never forget what you did to me, Jon.”

Jon hung his head, fighting against the tears.

“But I will learn to forgive,” Daenerys finished. “I don’t know when, and I don’t know how, but I will learn. Rhyaenna told me that, and while our daughter might be many things, she’s normally right when it comes to the matter of the heart.”

“Do you… Do you mind if I can sit with you?” Jon asked. “I won’t be close, I swear it. I just want to sharpen Longclaw, but… could you tell me of her, tell me of our daughter.”

* * *

 

Jon sat down upon a large boulder, several good feet away from Daenerys so that she would be comfortable. Ghost and Rhyaenna’s direwolf Daenys laid at his feet, Daenerys resting against one of the large dragons.

He always wondered how she could do that, as Jon remembered the touch of a dragon being the same as putting your hand into boiling water.

 _‘It just adds to her mystifying air,’_ Jon thought to himself. _‘And I hope she means it, that one day she’ll let me earn her trust again…’_

For days in the castle, Jon watched Daenerys from afar, never going too close lest he scares her. Her eyes were always wide whenever Jon neared, wild almost, like a cornered animal.

Jon didn’t blame her. He did betray her after all, yet he wondered selfishly at times how come she couldn’t just get over it.

 _‘She didn’t stay dead for long,’_ the dark voice in Jon’s mind would whisper. ‘She’s _alive now. It doesn’t make sense for her to be brooding for so long.’_

Jon knew that he had to respect Daenerys and her wishes if there was going to be any chance for them to have a future. He wanted a future with Daenerys from that moment she saved him Beyond the Wall. He still wanted a future with Daenerys now, but Jon knew the bigger question was if she wanted one with him.

Daenerys telling Jon about her abuse at the hands of her brother always infuriated him. But her words came like a stab in the heart when she told him how it felt to know that her only living relative was the cause of her death.

 _‘I will make it up to you somehow Dany,’_ Jon swore to himself. _‘Somehow. Someday. I will find a way.’_

“What do you want to know about Rhy?” Daenerys asked, breaking Jon from his thoughts.

Jon blinked, remembering his question to Daenerys to tell him about their daughter.

“Everything,” he said. “I want to know… everything about the child we created.”

Daenerys sat back upon her dragon, thinking it over. “I guess I should start at the beginning. After I was brought back to life, a Red Priestess informed me that I was carrying your child. I don’t know how to describe my feelings towards the news. I was… I was happy, I finally was pregnant. I was angry because I was carrying the child of the man who had murdered me. But… I was also sad. I was sad that Rhyaenna wouldn’t know her father, the man that I loved. I have only loved two men in this whole world Jon, and you were the one who held my heart the greatest.”

“You mentioned your first husband a long time ago… at the Dragonpit,” Jon said. “Why, why do you say this?”

Daenerys ruefully smiled. “I loved Drogo because he taught me how to be strong, how to break free of my Brother’s control. But in away… I guess it wasn’t the healthiest relationship. There were times in which I felt like I wanted to kill myself, but I clung to him because with him I was free. After he died and my son was killed by that Witch, I felt lost again. I had one other lover, but I didn’t love him as he thought. I left him in Meereen, even after he professed his love to me, and I felt nothing. It was only with you did I feel something, I felt… alive. For the months that followed, as I carried Rhy, I felt that same sensation. Being… alive.”

“And… the labor?” Jon asked.

“As long, hard, and painful,” Daenerys replied. “But what labor isn’t, I suppose? I feared that I might die as my mother and yours, leaving my child an orphan and at the mercy of the unknown. I begged the gods to let me live so that I could protect my baby. When Rhy was laid in my arms, a wiggling, squalling newborn, I looked into those lilac eyes and saw you looking back at me. I knew at that moment that I would do everything possible to protect her, to keep her from Westeros as best as I could.”

“Yet you named her in my parent’s honor,” Jon said.

Daenerys gave him a small smile. “She was the true union of Ice and Fire, the heiress to two great histories, I could not resist. As Rhy grew, more and more of you became prominent. There were the physical traits like the shape of her lips, the curve of her nose, the color of her hair. But then there were the personality traits such as her brooding when she didn’t get her way, her loyalty to friends, her willingness to do the right thing. She was her Father’s Daughter, more you than me.”

“What was she like… growing up?” Jon asked.

“A handful,” Daenerys sighed. “A very big, handful. There were times in which she would be the perfect little princess in the legends, and then a feral animal the next.” She covered her mouth as soft giggles rumbled in her chest. “She loved playing pranks, the servants in the Great Pyramid were terrified of her at times. Her favorite prank was to switch the Sugared Plums with ones that had been rolled in salt and soaked in vinegar.”

Jon couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Surely you jest! That sounds like something that Arya would have done!”

“I considered naming her after your sister once,” Daenerys replied. “But I did not know her well enough to do so. It’s a shame that we did not talk outside of the War Meetings.”

“It’s a shame indeed,” Jon said sadly. “I remember Arya telling me how much she dreamed of riding dragons, of being a warrior like Queen Visenya. It would have meant the world to her to have a relationship with you.”

“I didn’t get to befriend any of your family,” Daenerys said sadly. “They, like the rest of Westeros, saw me as an outsider. It was my fear, my greatest fear, that Tyrion or Sansa would send assassins after us, to murder us both.”

“Sansa wouldn’t…” Jon said, frowning. “Tyrion wouldn’t…”

“Tyrion is the son of Tywin,” Daenerys pointed out. “Tywin murdered babes, he sent his Mountain to rape and kill an innocent woman. He is his son. Sansa would do anything for power, she didn’t even give me a chance as she feared what I might do.”

Jon clenched his jaw, glancing away. “I…”

“I would have given the North its independence,” Daenerys said. “If that would have made you happy.”

Jon jerked his head back in her direction. “What?”

“If that would have made you happy, I would have allowed the North to stay independent,” Daenerys replied. “After all, Yara had asked for the Iron Island’s independence and I had agreed. Why wouldn’t I have agreed to the North?”

“But…” Jon stammered. “But Sansa said…”

“Sansa didn’t even give me a chance,” Daenerys replied. “I abandoned everything: my quest to conquer Westeros, my vengeance against Cersei. I stopped everything to help you and the North fight the Army of the Dead. And what did it get me? A knife in the heart.”

Jon flinched. He hadn’t thought of it that way. Daenerys was right. She could have easily continued on her path to the Iron Throne, then helped him. But she knew that time was running out and the bigger threat was the Dead. He remembered her mentioning of the respect that Yara had of Daenerys, he even remembered the Ironborn Queen boasting on how she would love to take Daenerys to wife.

Daenerys had lost everything—her friends, her dragons, her army—to help him and the North, and the North didn’t so much as give her a thank you.

Then, there was a conflict between her and Sansa. Jon had made Sansa promise before the Weirwood at Winterfell to not tell a soul about this true parentage, and she had broken it within minutes. That was the greatest crime that one could commit in the North, Sansa knew this.

 _‘Sansa used me…’_ Jon realized. _‘She became the puppet master… She mentioned watching Cersei and Littlefinger, learning from them. She turned into them…’_

“She used me…” Jon said aloud. “She twisted me against you, stole a life we could have had together…”

Daenerys said nothing and instead turned her head to look at Blackwater Bay.

The mist was still thick upon the water, but Daenerys swore that she saw a black shape, moving within it. Frowning, Daenerys narrowed her eyes, standing up to get a better look.

“Daenerys?” Jon said. “What’s wrong?”

Daenerys pointed at the figure that seemed to be getting closer. “Am I seeing things, or does that look to be a ship?”

Jon stood up, looking in her direction. The figure was getting closer and closer, quickly revealing itself to be a ship but it was too far to see the flags.

“It appears so,” Jon said. “But perhaps it’s Rhyaenna, come back?”

Daenerys’s stomach twisted itself int a knot, a sickening sensation settling itself there. “No…” she whispered. “I don’t think…”

As the ship neared, more and more appeared out of the mist, small dots that seemed to number in the hundreds. Small lights began to flicker upon them, then, the lights were flung in the air.

Daenerys watched as the lights got closer and closer, sailing in their direction. As they neared, Daenerys’s eyes grew wide with horror as the stars revealed themselves to be massive projectiles covered in pitch and set aflame.

“Look out!” Jon yelled, grabbing Daenerys and yanking her out of the way.

The pitch covered projectiles slammed into the base of the cliff below Daenerys and Jon, the ground rumbling and shaking as if the volcano that rested upon the island might erupt.

In the commotion Daenerys fell to the ground, landing on top of Jon as the two started deeply into each other’s eyes. Heat rushed into her cheeks as she looked down at him, quickly though Daenerys scrambled to get off him.

More projectiles hit the island in various places, leaving massive craters that would take days, if not weeks to fill in.

Dragonstone was under attack.

As the ships neared, Daenerys and Jon could make out the raven sigils upon the banners that snapped in the wind, under which were the lion flags of House Lannister.

“Tyrion…” Daenerys whispered in horror. “Tyrion… he’s come.”

“Why?” Jon asked, ducking as more projectiles were launched into the sky.

“Why do you think?” Daenerys yelled over the chaos. “He’s come to kidnap me, to have leverage while Rhy is gone. I knew that letter was bad news!”

“We need to gather the army,” Jon said. “You have fifteen-hundred men here on the island. Gather them. Use the dragons as a distraction.”

“I can’t!” Daenerys said. “Rhy is the only one who can control the smaller ones, and I dare not take Drogon out as I fear what might happen.”

Jon grunted in anger and looked at the approaching fleet of ships. There had to be fifty, maybe even a hundred, each no doubt packing a hundred men inside.

A rage within Jon was building, a rage at everyone who had used him for their own gained. Tyrion. Sansa. Even Bran. The people that he thought were his allies were nothing more than puppet masters, and like an idiot, he had given them his strings.

Jon was going to make every single one of them pay.

“Give me command,” Jon blurted out.

Daenerys snapped her head in his direction. “What?”

“Give me command of your men,” Jon repeated. “Please Dany, let me fight for you.”

Daenerys’ heart flipped in her chest, the fluttering in her stomach felt as if butterflies had been unleashed. “Jon…” she whispered.

“I let you down once,” Jon said, his dark-grey eyes hard. “I won’t do it again.”

Daenerys looked to the approaching ships, then she looked to Jon. Slowly, she gave him a small nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Daenerys's and Jon's love theme to write this chapter, as it really was about them. Daenerys and Jon finally laid everything bare and I hope that her message really came through, also what do you guys think about Jon's revelation: that's he's been used this whole time?
> 
> Next chapter, a new/old Ally is returning. Wait no, TWO new/old Allies are returning: one for Jon & one for Daenerys, I'll leave you guys to reflect on who they could possibly be.
> 
> BTW: Tyrion really has some balls doesn't he? He's attacking Dragonstone where 6 dragons reside, but it also shows how desperate he's coming. He's truly becoming his Father's Son because he knows the only way to get Rhy to back off is to capture/kill someone that she loves.
> 
> Also, I've realized, after talking to some readers, that my timeline is a bit jumbled in some places. When the book starts Rhy mentions being around 20 years old, but that would conflict with the ages with some people such as Bran, because if 20 years passed then he would be 45 at the start of book, when in the series he was 17 when he became King. So, after some hammering out, these are the ages of the main cast
> 
> RHYAENNA TARGARYEN-STARK - 20 years of age
> 
> CORREN YRONWOOD - 20 years of age
> 
> VYREO VOLENTIN - 20 years of age
> 
> DAENERYS TARGARYEN - 43 years of age
> 
> JON SNOW - 43 years of age
> 
> JAMIE LANNISTER - 20 years of age
> 
> JOANNA LANNISTER - 20 years of age
> 
> ARYA BARATHEON - 20 years of age
> 
> TYRION LANNISTER - 69 years of age
> 
> BRAN STARK - 37 years of age
> 
> (PS: Check out who I have selected as a main/main-secondary character in the book to give you hints on their importance in the story)
> 
> (P.P.S I am considering making a 'companion book' of the various outfits & face claims of the characters, so that you guys could see what I am thinking about when I am writing them. Is this something you would like?)
> 
> TOODLES! :)


	33. CHAPTER XXXII: THE LION DOES NOT BOTHER ITSSELF WITH THE OPINIONS OF THE SHEEP… - PART 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is GET. READY.

Davos Seaworth thought that he had seen the last of war after the Battle Against the Dead. He thought that with Bran as King of Westeros then everything would be peaceful again.

He was wrong.

Tyrion Lannister was the true power behind the throne, just as his father Tywin was when he was alive.

When this Rhyaennna Targaryen appeared, Davos was ready to believe that she was an imposter, that she was a liar. But when Bran confirmed her identity, Davos knew better than to question his King, he was a loyalist to the Crown.

That was why Davos didn’t question Tyrion, the Hand of the King, when he almost assassinated the girl.

That was why Davos didn’t question Tyrion, the Hand of the King, when he tricked the Crownland Lords into provoking the girl.

That was why Davos didn’t question Tyrion, the Hand of the King, when he commanded Davos to lead their fleet and attacking Dragonstone.

But even Davos had his limits.

Before Davos had left King’s Landing, Tyrion had pulled him aside and told him that this mission was for him to capture Daenerys and any of Rhyaenna’s allies. They were trying to cripple the girl, isolate her, which Davos agreed to do. But after he had left, Tyrion had asked for a moment with his First Mate, a young man named Harold

Davos didn’t know what Tyrion might want with the young man, but he left to make sure their fleet was ready, and the new catapults built into them were prepped. According to Tyrion’s spies, Rhyaenna was still in the Crownlands, leaving Daenerys and a small portion of their army on the Island. They were fish in a barrel, waiting to be seized.

The Royal Fleet numbed about fifty ships in total, enough to surround the Island, which was what they did. This prevented any aid to be given to the inhabitants, and also cut off any way of escape. The dragons left on the island could only hold so many passengers.

“A’right men,” Davos said. “Give ‘em our warnin’!”

One by one the ships in the inner circle around the island place large boulders soaked in pitch into the arm of their catapults. On Davos’ signal they were lit, then launched into the sky towards the island. Most of them missed because they were difficult to aim, but some managed to hit the jagged cliffs and base of the island.

The ‘warning siege’ didn’t last longer than half an hour, but Davos’s meaning was clear: surrender.

* * *

 

Jon’s hand gripped Daenerys’s tightly as they ran into the castle, the Northern Lord shouting for the remaining men to fall back.

“Close the gates,” Jon commanded. “We need to prepare ourselves for a siege.”

The Braavosi Commander left by Vyreo to both watches over Daenerys and oversee protecting the island, arched an eyebrow. “And who the fuck are you?”

“I’m your Commander,” Jon snapped, his grey eyes narrow. “And you will do as I say.”

“Say’s who?” The Commander asked. “Lord Vyreo said…”

“Lord Vyreo isn’t here,” Jon argued back, holding onto Daenerys tightly as another tremor shook the castle. “Queen Daenerys is in charge, and she has given me command of the remaining men. I’m also Princess Rhyaenna’s Father, and I doubt she’ll be happy when she finds out that you wasted precious time arguing with me when you could have been defending the Castle.”

The Commander looked to Daenerys who gave him a small nod. The Commander had known Daenerys from her time ruling Meereen and respected her, as did he respect Rhyaenna. He didn’t know this man who claimed to by Rhyaenna’s father, but if his Queen trusted him, then the Commander would tolerate him.

“What do you suggest we do?” the Commander asked.

“Seal the gates,” Jon instructed. “We are well-fortified against a siege, but we are trapped at the same time. The only way one and off the island is from the Northern beaches, and they will have secured it.”

“We also have a way to defend ourselves if they get the gates open,” Daenerys pointed out. “The road to enter the castle is a bottleneck, they can’t swarm us at once, but rather must enter single file.”

“Then that will be our secondary plan,” Jon said. “I’m going to go talk to their Commander, under a white flag of truce and see if I can get them to back off. What’s the most secure place in the castle?”

“Besides Aegon’s Chambers, the Chamber of the Painted Table is safe as well,” The Commander said. “I will put men in front of the doors to protect the Queen.”

Jon nodded and then turned to Daenerys, giving her hands reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be back, I promise you. I’ll return to you, and our Daughter.”

Daenerys nodded and gave him the smallest of smiles, her shining violet eyes make Jon’s heart flutter in his chest. She hadn’t kissed him, but the smile was more than enough. Ghost, his Mate, Daenys and the rest of the Pack that Jon had brought with him were to remain with Daenerys, just in case.

Turning to the Commander, Jon’s face grew hard again. “Protect her with your life, or else you’ll have to deal with me. The rest of you, get into positions.”

After Daenerys was secure in the Chamber of the Painted Table, Jon hurried out of the castle and began to head for the Northern Gate. But something made him soft, a soft tugging at his gut, heart, and mind. His feet moved on their own, walking to the Dragon Garden’s where the six dragons lounged, lost in their world.

Except one.

A green and gold-colored dragon was looking at Jon, staring deeply into his souk. Still, in this ‘trance’, Jon walked over to the dragon and took off his glove, extending his hand to it. Slowly the beast stretched out his neck, dumping his nose against Jon’s warm hand as a soft, almost purring sound rumbled in its throat.

“What’s your name, huh?” Jon wondered aloud.

“Alyserion!” Daenerys’s voice yelled from the Chamber of the Painted Table, startling Jon.

Jon had forgotten that the Chamber had the best view in all of Dragonstone, and allowed Daenerys to see both he in the Dragon Gardens, as well as the ships surrounding the Island.

“Alyserion, huh?” Jon said, still stroking the dragon’s nose. “Nice name. Do you like me, Alyserion?”

As if answering his question, Alyserion curled around Jon, flattening himself on the ground in clear invitation to be ridden. Jon’s heart quickened in his chest, racing like a galloping horse. The last time he had ridden a dragon was over twenty years ago, and he wouldn’t deny that the feeling was unlike anything else in the world. The only thing that felt better was sex.

_‘Please don’t buck me off, Alyserion,’_ Jon though, gripping the dragon’s spines as he climbed onto Alyserion’s back.

Alyserion lifted his neck, rolling his shoulder’s to test Jon’s weight, but not bucking him off. Instead, he settled, ready for Jon’s command.

Jon looked to Daenerys’s form watching them. “What do I do now?” he asked.

“ _Jēdar_!” Daenerys shouted. “The command to fly is _Jēdar_!”

Jon looked down to Alyserion. “Um… _Jēdar_?”

Alyserion let out a great roar as he stood on his hind legs and began to run. Jon yelled in terror, his fingers locking around the spine tightly, and just in time too, as Alyserion dived off the cliff and took off into the sky.

* * *

 

Free.

That what was pumping through Jon’s veins as he soured through the clouds. For the past twenty years, he had longed for the sensation of flight, to feel weightless again. Jon had only ridden on a dragon three times: once for a romantic flight with Daenerys, and twice in the battle against the Night King. Now, Jon was flying into battle once again, but this time it wasn’t against the Army of the Dead; it was against his countrymen.

From the skies, Jon could see that the fleet sent by Tyrion did indeed surround the whole island, and they were ready to close in. Already smaller ships were being launched to take the beach, who would then be attacking the front gates.

“I’m guessing that you wouldn’t listen to me if I commanded you to breathe fire, would you?” Jon asked Alyserion.

Jon wasn’t expecting an answer, but the dragon tossed his head and rolled his eyes as if to say: ‘ _of course not.’_

‘The largest ship in the front has to be where the captain is,’ Jon thought. ‘Hopefully, I can end this peacefully.’

He directed Alyserion to the ship, the soldiers aboard all began to shout and point.

“Who is your Captain?” Jon bellowed, hoping that they could hear him. “Bring him out, so that we can speak!”

To Jon’s shock, Davos appeared, much older than he remembered. Davos was late-middle-age when Jon had lost seen him, so he figured that Davos had to be pushing 70 years of age. But there was still afire in the Man’s eyes that told Jon to no underestimate him.

“M’lord,” Davos said, bowing deeply.

“Ser Davos Seaworth,” Jon said coolly. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Davos replied. “Last I saw of you, you were living with the Wildlings.”

“They prefer to be called Free Folk,” Jon corrected him. “And I’m here to help my Daughter.”

“So, you know of this Rhyaenna then,” Davos said, nodding. “I see. Which must mean you acknowledge her.”

“Of course I do,” Jon said, irritation bubbling to the surface. “But you did not answer my question: why are you here?”

“I was sent by Lord Tyrion and His Grace, King Bran to bring Daenerys to King’s Landing,” Davos replied.

“In chain no doubt,” Jon snapped.

“As a well-treated guest,” Davos corrected him.

“She’ll be a political prisoner,” Jon argued. “And you and I both know how Lannister’s treat their prisoners. Just look at what Tywin did to Ella Martell and her children. How Cersei treated Ellaria Sand and her daughter. The Lannister’s are never ones to be kind with those brought to them in chains.”

Davos frowned, glancing away a moment uncomfortably before turning back to face the Man he followed into battle numerous times. “Lord Tyrion wouldn’t do that… His Grace, King Bran…”

“I’ve known Bran longer than anyone else in this world,” Jon interrupted him. “And I know that Tyrion is the real one ruling Westeros. I know he’s the one who sent you. You’re not taking Daenerys anywhere.”

“Who says?” Davos asked.

Jon’s grey eyes grew as hard as coals. “I do. I am giving you one chance: turn your ships around and leave, or else the dragons will burn every single one of these ships to the ground.

It was a bluff, Jon knew that. From what Daenerys had told him, only Rhyaenna could control them, and she was in the Crownlands somewhere.

To add to the lie, Jon turned Alyserion around and flew back to Dragonstone, praying to all the gods he knew for Davos to believe in what he had said.

When Jon returned to the Castle, he hurried to the Chamber of the Painted Table, Daenerys almost running into his arms when she saw that he had returned. However, she caught herself before she could, and pulled away, her cheeks blooming red with embracement.

“What… What did you do?” Daenerys asked.

“I lied,” Jon replied. “Davos is leading the ships.”

“And do you think they bought it?” Daenerys asked.

Jon opened his mouth, only to see Daenerys turn deathly pale at a sight behind him. Turning around, Jon saw lights being lit on the ships, the catapults being prepped.

“I don’t think so,” Jon whispered.

* * *

 

Daenerys felt as if the siege had gone on forever.

Truthfully Davos and his men had only been launching their catapults for less than three hours, but those were the three longest hours in Daenerys’s life. The projectiles launched by Davos’s ships hammered away at the Island, most missing but the ones that did land caused severe damage.

Some of the ships turned their attention to the gates and began to launch their boulders at the thick barriers. The situation went from back to worse after several well-aimed shots made the gate crumble and break, eventually destroying the century’s old gates that had been there since House Targaryen came to Westeros.

Daenerys felt as if a part of her history had been lost as she watched the gates fall open the men from Davos’s ships began to run up the bridge.

Jon looked at her. “I have to go,” he said, grabbing Longclaw. “If they breach the doors of the palace then we’ll all be slaughtered like sheep. Tyrion will not leave anyone alive. Ghost, with me.”

The Direwolf nuzzled his mate before hurrying after Jon, but Daenerys grabbed Jon’s arm. Before Jon could realize what she was doing, the Queen pulled him close and pressed her lips deeply to his in a firm kiss. It wasn’t one filled with fire and passion, like their kisses from long ago, but the kiss left Jon at loss for words. The kiss wasn’t meant to be for one between lovers, but it was the start of… something new perhaps.

Slowly, when Daenerys pulled away, she looked into his eyes. “Come back to me.”

Jon nodded strapping on his sword. “Fire and Blood is coming for those who dare raise a hand against us.”

Daenerys’s heart flipped in her chest at hearing him combine the Word’s of his House’s. She watched as Jon hurried out of the Chamber, and turned back to watch the fighting that had landed on her doorstep.

“Archers!” Daenerys heard Jon shout. “Knock your arrows! Knock your arrows!”

The battlements among the walls of Dragonstone was a good vantage point to rain arrows down upon the enemy, and what exactly was what Jon was doing.

“Aim men!” Jon shouted. “Ready… LOOSE!”

A flood of arrows was released into the air, their number so great that Daenerys wondered if they might block out the sun. But they all met their mark. The arrows sound homes within the hearts, brains, and limbs of the men sent by Davos to capture her. Most of them fell off the sides of the bridge, screaming in pain as they fell to their death. The others that had gotten shot in the right places died instantly.

Jon stood in the front of the men protecting the front of the castle, Longclaw gripped tightly within his first. When the Archer’s broke to reload their arrows, Jon bellowed for his men to attack. They were all severely outnumbered, but if they fought with enough ferocity then they might make up for the lack of men.

‘ _Please_ ,’ Daenerys begged of the gods. ‘ _Protect them… Protect Him!_ ’

She watched as Jon fought with the skill he was known for, a skill that only a Targaryen could have. Jon was where Rhyaenna got her talent with the sword from, Jon was were Rhyaenna got her talent in killing from; and just like her Father, Rhyaenna hated to do it.

But as Davos’s men began to close in, killing more of Jon’s men then the Archer’s on the walls could put down, Daenerys’s heart lurched in her chest.

Then, the sound of a great horn filled the air, cutting through the yelling and shouting of fighting. Daenerys looked to the ships surrounding the island and saw that several smaller ships had appeared, seemingly out of thin air. They bore the sails of crossed spears in front of butterflies, at least that was what Daenerys thought the sails had on them.

The ships themselves were only about ten in number, and they beached themselves upon the sandy ground. Dressed in thin black and green armor, Men and—Daenerys thought she saw women as well—leaped out of the ships, tossing spears into the backs of Davos’s men who were caught by surprise.

“ _Dovaogēdy_!” shouted the Commander of the Men and Women. “ _Daerēdas issaros! mīsagon aōha dāria_!”

Daenerys’s heart froze in her chest as she translated the Valyrian words: _Unsullied! The Freed Ones! Protect your Queen!_

“Grey Worm?” Daenerys wondered, her heart quickening as a smile split her face. “Grey Worm!”

She watched as the Unsullied locked their shields together, creating a barrier that allowed the women in their group to leap out with their spears, stabbing and slashing at Davos’s men. They moved in perfect unison.

Although Jon and Grey Worm might not have known it at the time, together they had trapped Davos’s men between them. Men couldn’t go forward into the Castle, and they couldn’t go back to their ships, but the ships were still a problem. As long as Davos’s fleet surrounded the Island then it was easy for the men attacking the Castle to be replenished, or for the Fleet to launch another attack with their catapults.

The ships needed to be dealt with.

Suddenly the dragons in the Garden began to stir, each one lifting their heads and roaring, flapping their wings to take off into the sky.

Drogon finally looked up to where Daenerys stood, her eyes locking with her Mother in a way that Daenerys understood. Acting quickly, Daenerys began to tear at her dress tossing away the excess fabric before running to the Dragon Garden. Drogon still had on her harness from being ridden the night previous, and Daenerys quickly strapped herself inside it, before using Drogon to take off into the sky.

Jon felt a tugging at his gut, a calling in his heart that made him look at the Braavosi Commander. “Stay here and protect the Castle,” Jon commanded. “I have to go do something.”

The Commander was confused but said nothing, instead, he ordered his men to cover Jon as he too ran to the Dragon Garden. Alyserion was waiting for him. The dragon flattening himself on the ground as Jon swung himself up onto his back, holding on tightly as Alyserion launched himself into the sky.

In the air, the dragons flew in circles around Drogon, shrieking and calling…

‘ _But to whom_?’ Jon wondered.

He looked to Daenerys, who in turn was looking up at the sun, and followed her gaze. At first, Jon saw nothing, but when he squinted his eyes, a small dot began to grow bigger… and bigger… until it’s form was revealed.

Rhyaenna.

Their daughter had finally arrived upon the back of her dragon, and her thunderous expression told Jon and Daenerys all they needed to know on how Rhyaenna felt at what she was seeing. Circling the Island, Rhyaenna lowered Aenerys close enough to the ground so that Corren could safely land before she urged the dragon to fly up and join her parents.

For the first time in over 300 years, Dragonriders were in the skies of Westeros.

For the first time in over 300 years, House Targaryen was at full strength and had an heir to carry on its legacy.

Fire and Blood had come to Westeros, and this time, nothing was going to stop it from being unleashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SO COOL!!! Isn't it guys?!
> 
> Davos is back! So is Grey Worm! I bet you guys have so many questions, don't worry, all will be revealed in the next chapter!
> 
> Also, Rhy made it back just in time, and she's is NOT happy; no one attacks her Family and gets away with it.
> 
> P.S. I've been thinking it over and have decided I will make a book 2 in the series and it will cover most likely the first couple of years of Rhy's reign, but we're a LONG way from that. More info will come as we near it, so just keep that in the back of your minds.
> 
> P.P.S Seems like Dany is starting to warm up a bit to Jon. She's not ready to jump into bed with him in the slightest, but she is warming up to him just a little bit.
> 
> Toodles guys, until next time!


	34. CHAPTER XXXIII: … BUT THE DRAGON FEEDS UPON THE LION AND THE SHEEP ALIKE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, you will learn a little bit of what has happened to Grey Worm and the Unsullied after Daenerys died.

Rhyaenna had tried to be reasonable.

Rhyaenna had tried to show that she wouldn’t make brash decisions.

But the threat of losing her parents erased all of that. With Corren holding on for dear life, she flew Aenerys as fast as the dragon could fly to Dragonstone.

Imagine Rhyaenna’s rage when she saw that her vision was indeed true. A fleet of ships, all bearing the sigils of ‘King’ Bran and Tyrion Lannister on their flags. They surrounded Dragonstone and were launching flaming projectiles at the castle, causing severe damage to sacred island.

Aenerys flew low to the ground for Corren to go help the men fighting there, before taking Rhyaenna to join the last people she thought would be in the sky together.

Her parents.

Daenerys was on the back of Drogon.

Jon was on the back of Alyserion, although he wasn’t in a saddle.

For the first time in 300 years, House Targaryen was unified, it’s three Head’s alive and strong.

The family looked at each other, an unspoken conversation between them.

It was time to rain down Fire and Blood.

They separated, each one flying in different directions to target different sections of the fleet. Together, they clung to their dragons and yelled out the sacred word for dragon fire.

“ _Dracarys_!”

Tornados of fire erupted from the mouths of Drogon, Aenerys, and Alyserion. As the dragons flew in formations, circling the fleet, the massive vessels were set aflame. The pitch and tar barrels all exploded, bodies of the sailors and pieces of ships flying in all directions.

From the sky, Rhyaenna could hear the screams of men being burnt alive as they were consumed in flame. Part of her heart was saddened for them, but that part was quickly snuffed out by common sense.

This was war.

These men were not innocent.

Sent by Tyrion, they had willingly come to Dragonstone to capture—and most likely murder—her mother and father.

These men knew what they were getting into.

If Rhyaenna was going to win this war, she was going to have to make tough decisions, she was going to have to make shows of strength. She had seven dragons at her disposal, and they had spent most of the time sunning themselves on the rocks of Dragonstone.

No more.

Aegon and his Sister-wives had used their dragons in battle, as the weapons of mass destruction they were.

Rhyaenna would be no different.

_‘But you must also find a balance,’_ Aenerys said in Rhyaenna’s mind. _‘We are not mindless beasts for you to use and discard. You must be sensible when you do so.’_

Rhyaenna nodded and directed her attention to the largest ship in the fleet, the one leading the attack. Directing Aenerys to the ship, Rhyaenna looked through the eyes of her dragon to see all of whom was on board.

“Rhyaenna wait!” Jon shouted, Alyserion appearing at his side. “An old friend of mine is on this ship!”

Rhyaenna didn’t care. She didn’t give a damn on who this man was, or what his history with her father was. This man tried to kidnap, if not murder, her mother; and that was something Rhyaenna wouldn’t allow.

_‘Do not let your anger get the better of you,’_ Aenerys said in Rhyaenna’s mind. ‘ _Yes you are a conqueror, but not a murderer.’_

Rhyaenna grit her teeth, jerking her head in her Father’s direction. “Then I shall leave his fate to you. But this fleet will be nothing but ash before the day is done, no matter what you say, Father.”

Jon watched as Rhyaennna urged her dragon away to take care of another ship, before turning back to Davos. “I suggest that you abandon ship and tell your men to lay down their arms. My daughter is a woman of her word.”

Fifty ships led by the legendary Davos Seaworth and manned by the best sailors—second only to the Iron Born themselves—had set out to Dragonstone that day. For two hours they had laid siege to the Targaryen Island, and in less than thirty minutes the fleet was nothing more than floating, burning debris.

Davos and only a handful of his men had survived. Together the men stood on the beach of Dragonstone, the once white sands now covered in blood. They were all at Rhyaenna’s mercy.

Grey Worm and the men and women at his command had formed an armed circle around Davos and his crew, their spears pointed and ready to kill anyone who made the wrong move. Rhyaenna, Jon and Daenerys had landed, the Princess standing between her parents as the seven dragons circled in the skies above. All the dragons needed to be a simple command by their Mother, and Tyrion’s fleet would be no more.

“I should bathe you all in dragon fire,” Rhyaenna said, her voice loud for all to hear. “I should behead you, one by one, and send them to Tyrion as presents. It would be within my right, we are at war after all.”

Jon stole a look at Daenerys out of the corner of his eye, trying to read her expression. This was the same brash mindset that made Rhyaenna rush into battle after that fake letter and lose a large portion of her army.

“But I’m not going to,” Rhyaenna said, causing Jon to release the breath he didn’t even know that he was holding. “I am not here to rule by fear, I want to earn the respect of my people, but those who cross me will not go unpunished. Because I did not kill you, you are now all in debt to me, and that debt will be paid off with work to the Crown. For the rest of your days, you will serve in the Royal Army, and the pay you make shall go towards paying off your debt. Once it’s paid, you shall retire.”

The Men looked at each other, confused and shocked. They had expected to be beheaded, to have their tongues ripped out, their sword hands cut off; hell, they even expected to be burned to death. Instead, they were going to get arms training, they were going to have food in their bellies, they were going to have a chance to retire if they worked hard enough. This was unlike anything they had heard before in their lives.

Rhyaenna looked at her mother. “Mother, do you know the people who came in the smaller ships?”

Daenerys nodded, her eyes locking with Grey Worm. “Turgon Nudha,” she said in High Valyrian. “See these men to the dungeons and make sure they are fed. Then, come find me.”

Grey Worm pressed his fist to his heart in a salute. “Kessa, aōha dārōñe.”

Jon watched as Davos and his men were led away, and when he looked up he saw Rhyaenna and Daenerys were both watching him with guarded expressions. “What is it?”

“We need to talk,” Rhyaenna said, looking to her parents and Corren. “All of us.”

* * *

 

Rhyaenna leaned back in the main chair inside the Chamber of the Painted Table, the Princess was tired but important matters needed to be discussed.

“I will not mince words,” Rhyaenna said. “Nor shall I be kind. I have half a mind to fly all the dragons to King’s Landing, and burn it to the ground.”

Jon and Daenerys both flinched. Those words did not have pleasant memories for either of them, Daenerys more-so than Jon.

“Rhyaenna…” Jon whispered. “That is… not wise.”

Rhyaenna snapped her head in his direction, her violet eyes seeming to glow in the low torchlight like an enraged dragon. “Don’t you fucking tell me what is wise, and what isn’t right now!” she snarled. “Tyrion has tried to kidnap, if not murder, my mother. She has faced enough death in her lifetime, I will not take this threat to her life sitting down.”

Jon took a half-step backward, looking desperately to Daenerys for help. He had never seen Rhyaenna angry before, and he could not think of a way to calm her.

“Your father is not saying that Tyrion did was right, nor should you accept it,” Daenerys said to Rhyaenna. “But if you fly down to King’s Landing and do that, then you’ll be proving everyone right about what they believe in us Targaryen’s.”

_‘Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin,’_ Jon remembered Tyrion telling him _. ‘On one side is madness, the other greatness. Which side does my daughter possess?’_

Rhyaenna slammed her fist against the table, the mixture of the Targaryen and Stark temper at full force. “It would teach Tyrion not to try this again!”

“But it would also kill thousands!” Daenerys argued back. “I know, how you are feeling, Rhyaenna! I remember having this very same mindset when one of my greatest friends was stolen from me and killed before my very eyes. I wanted everyone to feel my pain, I wanted to hunt and kill, everyone who had a part in taking her from me. But that is not the right way to go about this. You are descended from Aegon the Conqueror, you have the Blood of Old Valyria, you are the Dragon’s Daughter. You will have your revenge, but you will not let innocents suffer to get it.”

Daenerys did not want her daughter to stray down the same path that she had, the path that had made her lose everything she loved.

_‘As well as the Father of my child,’_ Daenerys thought. _‘I lost everything, but Rhyaenna will not repeat my same sins.’_

Rhyaenna began to soften, her mother’s words washing over her in waves. Slowly, she leaned back into the chair, tilting her head back as she closed her eyes to gather her thoughts. Everyone in the room held their breaths and waiting to hear Rhyaenna’s decision.

“I won’t do it,” Rhyaenna whispered, slowly opening her eyes. “I won’t… I won’t subjugate thousands for the fault of one man. That’s not me, that’s not what I came to Westeros to do.”

Jon’s shoulders relaxed, he looked to Daenerys in joy, but his former Lover didn’t look in his direction. Instead, Daenerys looked away, and Jon saw that her lip was trembling, her face struggling to hold back tears. Daenerys once again had opened her old wounds, wounds that Jon himself had given her.

“Then what are you going to do?” Corren asked.

Rhyaenna drummed her fingers against the armrest of her chair. “I don’t… I don’t know yet. But the siege weapons that Tyrion had on his ships worry me.”

“They worry me too,” Daenerys said. “I remember when Cersei had her scorpions, how she murdered one of my Children with them. If Tyrion made catapults that could launch flaming boulders at us, it won’t take him long to move to make the same weapons his sister had.”

“And he is growing desperate as well,” Corren said, crossing his arms. “He might go even further then what Cersei did, dipping the tips in poison and other things. He’ll know that if he can bring down the dragons then it will severely cripple you.”

“Then the dragons are no longer safe here,” Rhyaenna said. “Dragonstone is no longer safe.” She looked at Daenerys. “I’m not leaving you alone, not again. Right now, Drogon is the largest dragon and has the toughest scales. He doesn’t need armor anymore, but the smaller dragons do. But… I can’t ride all of them.”

Jon cleared his throat. “I have… bonded with one of them. The green and white one.”

“Alyserion,” Rhyaenna said. “I named him for Queen Alysanne. He’s a gentle soul but is protective of his family. If he accepts you, then I will not argue with his choice. I ride Aenerys, so that is three out of the seven dragons with riders. There are no dragonseeds on the Island, or in Westeros for all we know. So, that leaves my children being the next riders. When I have them of course.”

Daenerys nodded, only to turn to the door when she heard the uniform chomping of boots against the polished stone floor. When the door opened, a familiar face stepped inside.

“ _Turgon Nudha_ ,” Daenerys whispered, standing to her feet.

Grey Worm bowed his head. “My Queen.”

* * *

 

Daenerys crossed the room in quick steps, wrapping her arms around her oldest living friend.

Her last living friend.

Neither of them had been one for intimacy, as there was a strict line of formality between them. But right now, formality was the last thing on either’s minds.

Grey Worm dropped his spear and shield and wrapped around his arms around the woman who had freed him from slavery. The Unsullied General had been trained since birth to not show his emotions, and any sign of softness had been beaten out of him in training.

But there was one woman who had broken through his iron shell.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Daenerys whispered through her tears. “I thought… I thought all of my friends were dead.”

Grey Worm slowly pulled away and looked at his Queen, the Queen he had chosen to serve, rather than being commanded too. She had gotten older, much older in these twenty years, but she was here, and most importantly she was alive.

The Unsullied General dropped to his knees and took hold of the edge of Daenerys’s dress, pressing it to his forehead. “I failed my Queen.”

“No,” Daenerys said quickly. “You did not fail me. I failed you. I became corrupted by my vengeance to avenge Her. I lost my way… but someone helped me find it again.”

Grey Worm’s hard eyes turned to Jon, the man he hated in all the world. “Your murderer?”

Daenerys shook her head. Gripping his chin, she turned Grey Worm to face Rhyaenna. “No,” she whispered. “My daughter. Rhyaenna.”

Grey Worm jaw’s dropped, his eyes widened as he took in the young woman sitting in the chair. While she possessed The Bastard’s face, her regal mannerism was all Daenerys, his beloved Queen. She even had Daenerys’s eyes, those otherworldly violet eyes.

“You… You had a child…” Grey Worm whispered. “Your greatest wish.”

“Among other things, “Daenerys said, nodding. “And she is here, to do what I dreamed. She will take Westeros, her birthright.”

Grey Worm stood to his feet, pressing his fist to his heart in a formal salute. “Then allow me to be with you. To serve you.” He looked to Rhyaenna. “My Princess, I served your Mother, I promised that I would help her be crowned Queen of Westeros. I pledge myself, and my soldiers to your army, if you allow it.”

Rhyaenna did not fully understand what was going on, but she knew that any friend of her mother was an ally of hers. “I thank you. Mother, I approve if it pleases you.”

Grey Worm turned back to Daenerys, giving her a small smile.

Jon looked between the two, a slight prick of jealousy began to pulse through his veins. Grey Worm meanwhile looked to Jon and gave him the dirtiest look that one might give. There was no way a friendship could be formed between the men, not after what Jon had done. Grey Worm wouldn’t risk Jon betrayed Daenerys again, which meant he would do everything in his power to keep the two apart.

“Grey Worm,” Daenerys said. “Who were the people who came with you?”

Grey Worm turned back to him. “My people. My… my family. I went to Her home, I kept my promise to Her. We protected and saved Her people. Half of us died the first year from the butterfly fever, but we learned how to avoid them. When they were in season we left the Island and returned when they died. Those that survived formed families, adopted orphans and married widows. We protected them, taught them the same.”

Daenerys could feel tears prick her eyes. “And… And you?”

“I did not take a family for a year…” Grey Worm said, his voice catching as he fought against tears he’d rather die than let fall. “I mourned Her. I did not want to soil her memory. Until…” he took a deep breath. “Until I found someone.”

There was movement in the back of the room, everyone turned to see an older woman nervously looking back at them. At her sides were a young man and young woman, who looked around to be Rhyaenna’s age, as well as a young girl hiding behind her.

_“Ñuha jorrāelagon_ ,” Grey Worm said in High Valyrian. _My love._ “Please. Come here, they still not hurt you.”

Slowly, the Woman stepped forward, the young people and child following her until they stood at Grey Worm’s side.

“This is Rolla,” Grey Worm said. “My wife.” She placed his hands on the shoulders of the two young adults and the child. “These are our children: Norenno, Nalha, and… Missandei.”

Daenerys couldn’t stop the tears that began to flow down her cheeks. “You… You named her… after Her?”

Grey Worm nodded, and looked to his Wife. _“Issa alright ñuha jorrāelagon. Kostā ȳdragon_.” _It is alright my love, you can speak._

Rolla nervously looked around. “M-My Queen,” she whispered.

“How… How did you meet?” Daenerys asked.

“I find him sick from Butterfly Fever. My husband—my first husband—had been killed, defending our son and me from slavers. I was carrying Missandei. I helped Turgon Nudha get better, and he was there when I gave birth. I named her in his honor.”

Daenerys looked to this Missandei, peering into her face. Her skin was darker than Her, and her long hair was a midnight-black rather than the light brown that Daenerys remembered. But there was a fierce intelligence behind this girl’s hazel eyes that matched her Missandei.

The boy, Norenno, had the same tough appearance that Grey Worm tried to give off but was much taller. The small girl, Nalha, was looking at everything with eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Welcome, to Dragonstone, all of you,” Daenerys said. “You all shall be treated as royal guests. No harm shall come to you as long as you are with us.”

This Missandei bowed deeply. “Forgive me, my Queen. But might I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Daenerys said. “What is it?”

“My Father has pledged his heart, his sword, and his soldiers for you and the Princess’s cause,” Missandei said. “I would like to do the same. From the time I was a child, my Father has trained me for battle. I ask that I prove myself and my worth to you.”

Daenerys couldn’t stop herself from smiling. This Missandei seemed to be around the same age as her daughter, if not younger. “My daughter is the same way. It is she who commands the armies.”

“And I reserve my judgment for those who fight at my side until they prove themselves,” Rhyaenna added in.

Missandei’s lips curved. “Then I await the chance to prove it to you, Your Grace.”

Daenerys had to cover her mouth to prevent from laughing. Yes. The two girls were going to get along quite well.

“It has been a long night, and a complex series of events,” Rhyaenna said, standing up. “I am tired, as I’m sure we all are. I will think of what to do with Tyrion, but I do believe it’s best that we—”

There was a heavy knocking on the door, and two Unsullied appeared, bowing deeply. They spoke to Grey Worm, who frowned, then turned to Daenerys.

“My Queen, they say that they have found a man and a woman trying to sneak into the castle,” Grey Worm said. “The man claims he knows the Princess. They await you in the throne room.”

Rhyaenna’s heart skipped a beat. ‘ _Could it be…?_ ’ she wondered.

Leaving all the others behind, Rhyaenna practically ran down the halls, running to the throne room. As she entered, her heart leaped into her throat.

“Vyreo,” she whispered.

* * *

 

Her husband had looked better.

Vyreo’s skin was red from the burning sun, his black beard was thick and overgrown from not being trimmed, his clothed were ragged, and his face covered in dirt.

But he was alive.

Uttering a soft cry, Rhyaenna rushed to him, flinging herself in his arms as she began to sob into his neck. Vyreo clutched her clothes, inhaling her scent as he mentally pinched himself, wondering if he was dreaming.

“You’re alive,” Rhyaenna whispered. “You’re alive… You’re alive… You’re alive!”

“Yes,” Vyreo whispered. “I am. By the gods I am.”

“I’m so sorry,” Rhyaenna cried. “I didn’t mean to abandon you. I didn’t want too. Please say you’ll forgive me. Please, please say you’ll forgive me.”

“Of course I do,” Vyreo said, placing her on the ground. “I’m not angry with you, Rhy. I can never be angry with you.”

By now, Daenerys and the others had entered the throne room and had watched the reunion, Corren happy most of all.

“I told you, he’d come back,” Corren said, giving Rhyaenna a small smile.

Vyreo chuckled. “Yeah, I came back. Guess that means you can’t have her all to yourself anymore.”

Corren rolled his eyes, laughing ad he slapped Vyreo on the back. It was at this moment that Rhyaenna noticed the heavily pregnant woman at Vyreo’s side and she blinked, surprised.

“Who… Who is this?” Rhyaenna asked.

“This is Mari,” Vyreo said. “If… If it wasn’t for her and her brother, I wouldn’t be alive.” He looked to Rhyaenna. “They saved me when the Crownland Lord’s ordered my head, and I escaped with Mari after they beheaded her brother for ‘treason’.”

Rhyaenna looked to the peasant woman. “You are welcome here. As will your child be, when it’s born. Your brother’s head was sent to me, along with Vyreo’s ring, claiming that it was him but I knew that it wasn’t. Please know that he got a hero’s funeral, and I am forever in your debt.”

Mari bobbed an awkward curtsy with her full belly. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Rhyaenna nodded and took Vyreo’s hand. Together with Corren, the trio walked to the royal bedchambers to get ready for bed. It was supposed to be Corren’s night with Rhyaenna, but the Princess pulled both men into her chambers. After being apart for so long, she didn’t want it to ever happen again.

Vyreo bathed, shaved, and ate before the trio crawled into the massive bed together. With Rhyaenna in the middle, her husbands wrapped their arms protectively around her as they fell into a deep sleep.

But that sleep didn’t last for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Grey Worm has a family! So nice!!
> 
> Vyreo is back! He survived! Now we know who's head it was, that was sent to Rhy several chapters back.
> 
> I'm going to be blunt, the next chapter is going to be mainly a sex scene. It's time for that threesome that I promised, and it's going to be H.O.T.T.T!! Also, Rhy will decide what to do about Tyrion and what he did, it' was good for Daenerys to check her though.
> 
> Also, bad news guys, I'm forced to go back to updating only 2 times a month maximum because of my wild schedule. Thought I had everything under control but some personal things have come up, that will take up more of my time.
> 
> But I will do as I did in the past: If you want me to post the next chapter (the steamy, steamy, STEAMY sex scene) within the week, all I ask is 20 comments. I love hearing from you guys!!! I want to read what you think of the chapter! So yes, 20 comments and I will upload the new chapter within the week. If not, then I'll post within 2 weeks.
> 
> Toodles!


	35. CHAPTER XXXIV: PLANTING SEEDS OF A LEGACY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get your fan's ready, hehehe!

Vyreo felt as if someone was watching him. Slowly, the Braavosi Lord opened his eyes and rubbed the sleep from them. Looking down, he found that it was Rhyaenna watching him, her violet orbs staring at him with an unblinking hunger.

“I thought I had lost you,” She whispered.

Vyreo cupped her cheek, brushing it over with his thumb. “I will never abandon you, Rhy. Not even death can keep me away.”

Rhyaenna rubbed her cheek against his palm, a silent tear sliding down her cheek as she sighs. Pulling away from Corren’s arms around her waist, Rhyaenna pressed her lips to Vyreo’s, a soft groan of pleasure rumbling in his throat.

As she combed her fingers through his hair, Vyreo pulled her closer, thrusting his hands under her sleeping silk to roam his hands over her body. This body… in his nightmares, he was never going to touch it again.

_‘It was just a dream,’_ Vyreo thought, hearing Rhyeanna whimper in pleasure as he stroked her inner thigh. _‘I will always come back from her.’_

Corren began to stir, having felt his arms drop from around his wife. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he took in the intertwined lovers with a cool expression. “Do you want—” he began to say.

Rhyaenna’s lips upon his silenced him, her tongue seeking out its lover. Corren couldn’t help but groan in desire, his hands sliding to grip her rear, to pull her close to him.

“What I want,” Rhyaenna said, pulling her lips away to look between her husbands. “Is the both of you…”

Vyreo and Corren looked at each other, confused at first but the realization dawning upon them. The two men moved as one, Vyreo latching on to Rhyaenna’s neck while Corren slides his shirt over his head before pressing his lips to his wife’s.

Moaning softly, Rhyaenna tilted her head back, cupping Corren’s head as she felt Vyreo’s hands palm at her breasts. Her sleeping silks were a barrier, an accursed barrier keeping them from her body, from the body they worshiped. Vyreo—always the brash one—gripped the front of the gown and tore it in half before tossing it away.

Now free and bare for their pleasure, their touches began more favored. Vyreo moved to Rhyaenna’s lips, massaging her breasts, rolling the dark-pink nipples between his fingers. Corren meanwhile kissed down her body, spreading her thighs before pressing kisses to her most intimate of places.

The moment that Rhyaenna felt him at her nethers she asked, her back arching as she groaned.

“Lucky bastard…” Vyreo said between kisses. “He gets first taste… but I claim first time inside you.”

Corren lifted his head from between Rhyaenna’s thighs. “Why do you get the first round?”

“Because I’m the one that almost died,” Vyreo argued back. “Thus, I get the first time.”

“Boys, boys,” Rhyaenna chuckled, raising herself up on her elbows. “You’ll both get plenty of turns with me. But Corren, Vyreo is right…”

Corren rolled his eyes playfully and chuckled. “Fine…”

Smirking in triumph, Vyreo kissed Rhyaenna’s neck before focusing his attention to her breasts. Corren turned his attention back to her nethers.

At first, Corren gave her soft kisses, before giving her a slow, sensual lap, like a cat drinking its milk. Rhyaenna’s thighs quivered, her back arched as Corren listened to the sound of her soft moans of pleasure. Grinning to himself, he reached out with his hand, carefully sliding in two of his fingers.

They stroked her inner walls, curving and caressing the sweet, slick, velvety-smooth skin as Corren latched onto her swollen pink pearl. While he sucked on it and moved his fingers inside, her Vyreo had his face buried between her breasts. One of his hands massaged the large orb while the other he had inside his mouth, flicking his tongue against the sensitive nub.

Rhyaenna clawed at the sheets under her, her head was tossed back as her moans turned into a panting, cries of pleasure. She could feel the pressure building within her groin, and when the time came for her release, Rhyaenna didn’t fight it. A loud shriek erupted from her throat; her body trembled as the powerful climax ripped through her core.

Corren cleaned her up with his tongue, smirking at Vyreo in clear challenge. “See that, Braavosi? I brought our wife to another glorious climax.”

Vyreo rolled his eyes. “Any fool and use his tongue. This is where it matters.”

He unbuckled his pants without shame, tossing them aside and standing before the two of them as naked as the day he was born. Corren quickly averted his gaze but Rhyaenna giggled softly and reached out to him, like a child reaching to a sugared plum.

“I just realized something, how are we going to make this work?” Vyreo asked, crossing his arms.

“I was thinking on it,” Rhyaenna said, looking at the two of them. “And… I want to tell you both… something. I… I haven’t taken my herbs for about a moon cycle, and I would like, to begin to try… with you.”

Vyreo and Corren looked at each other, although Corren forced himself to not look past Vyreo’s chest. What Rhyaenna was saying was that she was ready to begin trying for a child, to cement her family’s legacy.

“If that is what you want, you know I will not deny you,” Vyreo said, smirking.

“Neither shall I,” Corren said, giving her a small wink. “But how again, are we going to do this?”

“Well, I was considering… Vyreo takes me from behind and you lay under me,” Rhyaenna explained. “That way, I can kiss you, touch you, Corren.”

Vyreo grinned. “I’m perfectly fine with this. What about, Dornishmen?”

Corren shrugged with a chuckle. I do not see a problem with it.”

It took a bit of maneuvering at first, but the trio found the right position. Placing a pillow under Rhyaenna’s hips to raise them, the Princess laid on top of Corren as Vyreo got behind her. Corren let his legs dangle over the side of the bed and he gripped Rhyaenna’s thighs while Vyreo gripped her hips. The Braavosi playfully slapped at Rhyaenna’s dripping center with his cock a couple of times, before finally pushing into her.

Together, they all shuddered and groaned, Rhyaenna’s head tilting back briefly in pleasure at the sensation of being one with Vyreo again.

“Ready?” Vyreo asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Rhyaenna replied.

Vyreo looked at Corren with a wicked smirk, a clear message that he wasn’t going to go easy; it wasn’t his way.

Vyreo did begin slowly at first, his thrusts long and deep, allowing Rhyaenna’s walls to stretch and get used to his length. A warm-up.

As Vyreo moved behind her, Rhyaenna’s body slowly slid up and down Corren, her breasts moving up and down his chest, her violet eyes never leaving his.

“I love you,” Corren whispered.

“I know,” Rhyaenna replied, lowering herself to press her lips to his.

Vyreo allowed this ‘slow stage’ to last a couple moments more, before Rhyaenna felt him tense, readying himself. When Vyreo fully unleashed his passion and lust upon her, Rhyaenna was glad that she finally had some support. In the past, the only thing she could grip was the bedpost or the sheets, now she had Corren to hold onto.

Rhyaenna’s moans melted into breathy, not-so-quiet cries of pleasure, her head was tossed back as she held onto Corren as if for tear life. Corren made sure to hold her securely, but he added to her pleasure as well. From this position below her, Corren was able to bury his face between her breasts, massaging one with his free hand while the other suckled upon her nipple like a newborn babe.

Vyreo was gripping her waist so tightly that Rhyaenna knew that marks would be left, but she didn’t care. Her husband was back, her lover was back, one of the men that she wanted to father her children was back. Vyreo’s attack was one of passionate, short, rapid strokes, the ridges of his cock perfectly stroking her more sensitive spot as well as her sacred pearl.

It didn’t take Rhyaenna long to feel that all so familiar sensation of pressure building within her groin. Like before she didn’t try to hold it back, allowing her climax to rip through her.

Vyreo felt the tightness within his groin, his hands gripping the bedpost tightly as to make sure he didn’t accidentally collapse on her. His body shuddered as he let out a deep bellow of release, pouring into her and—his inner hope—giving her the child she desperately wanted.

Perspiration dripped slowly slid down Vyreo’s body, the air around the trio smelt of euphoria and sex.

Vyreo stayed inside Rhyaenna for a couple of moments longer, allowing himself to fully empty his seed into her womb before withdrawing. “Beat… that… Dornishman.”

Corren chuckled, nuzzling Rhyaenna’s neck, tasting her sweat. “When our wife has had a moment to cool down, I will show you the proper way, to treat her in bed. Unlike you Braavosi, we don’t fuck, we make love.”

Rhyaenna grinned at her husbands, realizing she was in for in quite the night.

* * *

 

The flames crackled and swayed as Daenerys sat in front of the fireplace in her chambers. It was quiet, relaxed, a calm that was needed after the storm that had raged mere hours before.

Since her resurrection, Daenerys had found herself spending her free time either reading books, overseeing Rhyaenna’s household, or staring into flames. The latter of which she was doing now. Somehow, someway, the Lord of Light had brought her back; and it had to be for some purpose, Daenerys believed that.

Jon had died, the Lord of Light brought him back.

Daenerys had died, the Lord of Light brought her back.

_‘Could our daughter be next?’_ Daenerys wondered, watching as the flames dance. _‘Is Rhy in danger? And if so, from whom?’_

Images began to appear in the flames, of a trio of dragons flying in the air, battling against what looked to be lions and quad of wolves. At first, it looked as if all the wolves were trying to fight against the dragons but no, it became apparent it was just one wolf. The dragons and the wolves launched their attack against the lone wolf and the lions, and in the chaos, the lone wolf lunged at one of the dragons. The smallest dragon leaped in front to protect its comrade and fell in death.

“No!” Daenerys gasped, panic rising with her. “No!”

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and Daenerys felt a burning pain right below her breast. Where Jon had stabbed her.

Tearing open her gown, Daenerys fingered the scar, silent tears sliding down her cheeks. Although she was alive, Daenerys still had to face the night terrors that invaded her mind, her soul, at times. She would wake up screaming in the night, sobbing in fear and anger at the life that had been stolen from her.

_‘Rhy is going to change that,’_ Daenerys thought to herself. ‘ _Rhy swore to me that I’ll never live in fear again.’_

A sudden knock on her door made Daenerys jump, but she quickly fixed her clothes. Her stomach flipped within her gut, some part of her hoping that it was Jon, waiting for her on the other side of the door. When she opened it and saw Grey Worm, Daenerys fought against her disappointment.

“Your Grace,” Grey Worm said, bowing deeply. “May I come in? I desire to speak to you.”

“Of course,” Daenerys said, stepping aside to let him in.

Grey Worm was wearing casual clothing, not his armor as Daenerys had seemed him only wear in the past. It was still black in color, the color of both the Unsullied and House Targaryen, but looser; although there was a dagger on his hip.

“Might I offer you some wine?” Daenerys offered. “Corren, Rhy’s husband, has Dornish wine. Trust me when I say it’s better tasting the one from Meereen.”

“If it pleases, Your Grace, I will,” Grey Worm, his Unsullied obedience creeping in once again.

For the past twenty years, Grey Worm hadn’t had to be this formal with anyone. After all, his one and the only queen were Daenerys and when she died, he refused to serve another. Now, he felt that she deserved respect.

Grey Worm took a seat on the other side of the fireplace, as well as the offered goblet of wine.

“I am happy that you came to see me,” Daenerys said. “Your family, are they happy with their chambers?”

“They find them quite grand, Your Grace,” Grew Worm replied. “Little Nalha keeps trying to sneak off to the Garden of Dragons, she’s begged me to take her to see them.”

“As tolerate as they might be, I do not believe they are ready yet for children,” Daenerys said truthfully. “At least, not until Rhyaenna has children.”

“She looks like Him.” Grey Worm said, unable to keep the words from sounding as if he was spitting out rotten fruit.

“But acts like me,” Daenerys said, knowing Grey Worm’s fury at Jon. “She has my eyes, your Queen’s eyes.”

“We will serve her, as we served you,” Grew Worm said. “I bring all who wanted to leave Naath with me.”

“Your family,” Daenerys said, unable to help herself. “How… How did little Nalha come to be? I understand Norenno and… Missandei,” Daenerys took a deep breath. “But as for Nalha?”

Grey worm shrugged. “The people within Naath don’t really have what your people consider marriages. Children are made in times of pleasure, and children are born. Rolla asked me, after the birth of Missandei, if I wanted more children. I did, I didn’t think it was right for me to impede on her people’s traditions. There is this grand festival, called Day of Love, and she went to it, with my permission. When she became pregnant again, I was happy, I was there for her, and then Nalha was born. After which, she told me that she didn’t want any more children, as she couldn’t stand the pain of labor.”

Daenerys chuckled softly to herself. “I know that she speaks the truth. I was terrified when my time came to give birth to Rhyaenna. The pain was so great, I felt that I might die, and I thought I was supposed to split open like a pea. But my Nursemaids were there, as were the Priestess’s of Volantis, as I had brought them with me to Meereen. When Rhyaenna was born, there wasn’t a more exciting day in my life, to see the living creature that I had made, that I could hold her in my arms.”

“But He put her there,” Grey Worm snapped. “He, the one that murdered his rightful Queen. He did it so that he would not have to share the throne with you.”

Such a thought had never crossed Daenerys’s mind, although a dark voice whispered of the logic of Grey Worm’s words.

Daenerys shook her head, silencing the voice. “No, he did not. He gave it to his brother, or… however that happened, I don’t know, and neither do I care. What matters is Rhyaenna, and how she is going to be Queen.”

“I have spoken to Missandei,” Grey Worm said. “She wants to serve the Princess, be her… Shield, or whatever your people call their chosen protector.”

“Hopefully they will get along,” Daenerys chuckled, knowing how strong-willed her daughter could be.

Grey Worm nodded. “I know they will if they are like their parents.”

Daenerys gave him a small smile, happiness filling her once again. Grey Worm was her last living supporter, her original supporters before she came to Westeros. To have him by her side felt like a dream, and she reached across to grasp his hand.

“I do not plan to stay in Westeros for long after Rhyaenna is crowned,” she said. “Once she is, and maybe after she has a child or two, I plan to return to Meereen. I would be honored if you came with me, to serve as the Captain of my Queensguard.”

Grey Worm’s heart skipped a beat, and he dropped to his knees before his queen. “I will serve you, until my last breath.”

It was at that moment that the door to Daenerys’s chamber and Jon stepped inside, although he froze at the threshold. His grey eyes took in the scene before him, and he couldn’t stop the bubbling jealousy spreading through his veins.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said. “Should… Should I come back?”

“No,” Daenerys said quickly, her heart quickening in her chest. “No, it’s alright. Grey Worm, can you give us a moment?”

Grey Worm slowly rose to his feet and bowed to his Queen, before walking to the door. As he neared Jon, he leaned close and whispered. “I will be guarding the door. If I hear so much as the rustle of paper, it will be my dagger going through your heart.”

Jon’s blood ran cold as Grey Worm walked past him, and even closed the door behind him.

“Did he threaten you?” Daenerys asked.

“Yes,” Jon replied, still unable to lie after all these years.

“Good,” Daenerys said. “Whatever he said, I know he will keep his promise.”

Jon cleared his throat nervously and looked away a moment before walking to her. “May I sit?”

Daenerys nodded. “Why have you come, so late at night? Where you expect to find me in my sleeping silks, hunger for you to join me in bed?”

Jon said nothing, as a part of him really was expecting that. He was so split. He wanted her, he wanted to be back in his lover’s arms again; but at the same time, Daenerys was the one forcing him to keep this distance.

“I see,” Daenerys said, taking a small sip of her wine.

“Dan—Daenerys,” Jon said, correcting himself. “I… I’m trying… I’m giving you your space, but I still… I still love you…”

“You are acting as if all you want from me is sex,” Daenerys snapped, clenching the goblet in her hand. “As if that’s all, that you wanted from me.”

“No!” Jon protested. “That’s not all that I want from you. Yes, I want sex with you, but I want to make love to you. Twenty years, that’s how long it’s been since I’ve held you in my arms since I’ve kissed you since I’ve heard your laugh. I want what we used to have, and I will do anything to go back.”

“That’s the problem, Jon,” Daenerys said. “You keep on looking back, you keep on looking in the past. You can not change what happened then, you can not change killing me, you can not change killing our daughter.” She took a long, shaky breath. “But… You can change where we go from here. I saw you, I watched you, defend Dragonstone, defend our troops. Your friend, that Onion Knight, was leading the fleet. You could have easily helped them, but you didn’t, you protected us, you saved me.”

“I promised you, when we met again, that I would never abandon you, that I would never leave your side,” Jon reminded her. “I am a Stark, I was raised to keep my promises.”

“What will happen when Rhy marches on the North?” Daenerys asked. “When she faces Sansa. You know your sister, she will not bend the knee.”

“I know,” Jon said, frowning. “I know that. But we will face that when the times comes. Right now, none of that matters, the only thing that matters in my life is you and our daughter. You two, are the most important things in my life.”

Daenerys could feel tears sliding down her cheeks, but they weren’t tears of sorrow like before. They were tears of joy.

Jon rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I… I should let you sleep now…”

Daenerys stood up. “J-Jon?”

Jon looked at her. “Yes?”

“Could you… stay the night?” Daenerys asked. “I’m not ready for…what I know you want. But, if you would like, I was wondering if you could… just hold me?”

Jon’s jaw dropped, his heart skipping a beat. “I… I would be happy too.”

Quickly, he untied his boots and took off his leather jerkin. Wearing only a loose linen shirt and his breeches, Jon waited as Daenerys leads him to her bedchamber. She took off her outer robe, revealing her smooth sleeping silks, before looking at him to climb in first. Carefully, and slowly, Jon slid into the bed, pulling back the blankets as he pressed himself against the wall. Daenerys then climbed in after him, her back pressing to his front as she rested her head upon the pillow.

Draping the covers over them slowly, Jon wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head on top of hers as they fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

The following morning, Rhyaenna summoned everyone to the Chamber of the Painted Table for a formal meeting. Alarina, Grey Worm and his family, Rhyaenna’s husbands, Daenerys, Jon, and the various commanders in the army all stood, waiting to hear what she might say. The Princess was rosy-cheeked, happy, her spirits soaring through the clouds, however, something caught her eye. Her parents were standing abnormally close to each other. No longer were they on opposite sides of the table, but instead, were sharing the same side, Daenerys’s elbow almost touching Jon’s arm.

‘Looks like I’m not the only one who had a good night,’ Rhyaenna thought to herself.

“Thank you for all coming here,” Rhyaenna said. “I’ve come to a decision on what to do about Tyrion and the attack on my ancestor’s home. We aren’t going to attack King’s Landing, that’s what he wants, that’s what he is waiting for.” Standing up, Rhyaenna placed the dragon-headed figurine on Casterly Rock. “But he won’t be expecting this. He tried to attack my home, so I’m going to take his.”

Jon found himself nodding, listening to what his daughter was saying.”

“But we have to do this carefully,” Rhyaenna replied. “It would look highly suspicious if we all moved, at the same time. Not only that, but our army is still in Dorne, and will take a long time to reach Casterly Rock.”

Corren stood up. “I suggest we split our forces then, into three groups. The first group should be led by Alarina,” he suggested. “Under the cover of darkness, they will sail for Dorne and retrieve the forces we have there. They will then sail to the Reach.”

“Not the Westerlands?” Daenerys asked.

Corren shook his head. “The Reach is one of the richest regions in the continent. We need to secure it, or at least have a presence there.”

“As for the second group,” Vyreo said. “That group will stay here, pretending to still hold the Island. Then, slowly, they will withdraw, as to not catch any attention.”

“The third group will be the most important,” Rhyaenna said. “That group will consist of all every member within this room. Under the cover of darkness, we will mount the dragons and fly to the Westerlands, using the clouds as cover.”

“The problem is we don’t know what might be waiting for us in the Westerlands,” Corren said. “I heard that Casterly Rock is impregnable.”

Grey Worm’s ears perked up and he looked to Daenerys, his Queen giving him a small nod before he stepped forward. “May I speak, Your Grace?”

“Of course,” Rhyaenna said, nodding.

“Years ago, the Traitor told us of a secret passageway into the castle that could be reached by entering through a series of caves,” Grey Worm explained. “If that passageway is still open…”

“We could use it to slit right into the castle,” Rhyaenna said, nodding. “But how do we know that it’s still open?”

“If I know Tyrion, he most likely has forgotten about it,” Daenerys replied. “He thought I was dead, and thus I was the only other person to know about it.”

“We still need a plan in case the passageway is closed up,” Jon pointed out.

“The dragons,” Rhyaenna said. “Mother, Father, you two will be coming with me. If you can open the gates with a quick enough fire blast, then it will enable our soldiers to get inside.”

“And… as for casualties?” Jon asked.

Rhyaenna looked to the various commanders. “No one, except soldiers are to be killed. And anyone who lays down his arms will be captured. Anyone who disobeys these commands and it’s found out has done so, will answer to the dragons. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the Commanders said.

“Good,” Rhyaenna said, standing up. “Mother, Father, I need you two in the air. Mother, use your connection with Drogon, the smaller ones will follow your lead.”

“What about you?” Jon asked.

“I’m going to be with my men of course,” Rhyaenna said. “Mother had armor made for me in Meereen as well as a new sword for House Targaryen. I plan to use them both. I thought that I could conquer Westeros as a Wolf, but it appears I was wrong. A Dragon is what’s needed right now, and at first light, we set out. By the time word reaches Tyrion and he learns of our movements, it’ll be too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hot in herre!
> 
> Lol, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, I know I did. Well, you heard Rhy, it's time to head off to war! It's time to rain down Fire and Blood, and this time, she's going to go about it smart. Tell me, what do you think of Rhy's plan? Do you think it'll work?
> 
> Basically, Rhy's planning to split her forces into 3 groups: One to go to travel to Dorne and then go to the Reach and establish a base there. One to stay on Dragonstone and fool Tyrion into thinking they're still there. And One to take Castertly Rock from right under his nose. Think it'll work? Is it a stretch? Tell me what you think.
> 
> Also, what do you think of Dany's vision in the fire? What do you think of her and Jon slowly opening up to each other again?
> 
> Until next time!


	36. CHAPTER XXXV: ALL LANISTERS MUST PAY THEIR DEBTS

When Tyrion watched the ships leave out of Blackwater Bay, he was nervous. Through his spies, the Imp had managed to trick the Princess into an ambush in the south of the Crownlands. Then, he sent Davos and their navy after Daenerys. With Rhyaenna distracted, Tyrion had hoped for the easy capture of the former Dragon Queen. Yes, she still had dragons, but that was were the catapults came in.

But then everything went wrong.

Everything went terribly, terribly wrong.

Somehow Rhyaenna had survived the ambush, and Tyrion learned from Robert Baratheon that the Princess had flown to the Stormlands and Gendry had bent the knee. Once rested, Rhyaenna flew back to the Crownlands and killed the rebellious Lords, and forced the others to bend the knee.

Tyrion’s hope then rested in the capture of Daenerys, but even that opportunity was snatched away.

The fleet that was supposed to surround and destroy Dragonstone was instead burned down by Daenerys upon the back of Drogon, Rhyaenna… and Jon Snow.

That name knocked the wind out of Tyrion, as he had thought that Jon was dead.

Then again, Jon—just like Daenerys it seemed—refused to die.

Working together the trio had burned down the fleet and captured Davos and the remaining men. But their heads weren’t sent to Tyrion. Then again, the Imp wouldn’t have noticed them even if that had happened.

Once word had reached him that the plot to destroy Dragonstone had failed, the Imp had gone to work in securing and defending the capital.

The catapults that Tyrion had commissioned were placed upon the battlements of the walls. Men were hired to work them. The gates of the city were shut. What remained of the fleet blocked off the Bay.

Tyrion held his breath and waited, readying himself to an attack he knew would come.

And he waited…

And he waited…

And he waited…

And he waited…

Three weeks had passed, and there wasn’t even a glance of a dragon in the sky.

The fleet had its eyes upon Dragonstone, and from what was reported, no large armies were on the move. Ships moved lazily around the island, but nothing large enough to say an army was changing position. The only thing that might have worried Tyrion was that the dragons couldn’t be seen, but then again Tyrion figured that they might be hunting.

Confused, Tyrion went to the one person he knew—and hoped—would give him some insight: Bran.

Bran was found in his usual place, his eyes white as he warged. However, at the sound of Tyrion clearing his throat, Bran’s eyes changed back to normal, the King turning to his Hand.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion said, bowing. “What did you see?”

“I was watching,” Bran answered, not saying anything more.

Tyrion mentally groaned. Getting useful information out of his king was like pulling teeth from a chicken.

“Were you watching the Girl?” Tyrion asked.

“Yes,” Bran replied.

“Do you know what she’s doing? Is she planning to march on King’s Landing?” Tyrion asked.

“No,” Bran replied.

Tyrion was becoming irritated by these one-word answers. “Does she plan to march on King’s Landing? And if so, when?”

“Not for some time,” Bran answered. “She has something else in mind at the moment.”

Tyrion frowned, he didn’t like the sound of that. “What is she planning?”

Bran did not reply and instead leaned back in his chair. “She is a warg, just as I am, but not a Greenseer. In a way, she can block me, just like the Night King could.”

“But there is no way this girl—this child—is as powerful as he was,” Tyrion countered.

“She has pure Targaryen blood in her veins, as well as stark,” Bran replied. “The future Kings and Queens and Westeros will have the same mix.”

Tyrion’s heart stopped in his chest. “The future Kings and Queens of Westeros? Have you given up? You will not defend your throne?”

Once again Bran said nothing, instead, he tilted his head back, his eyes glazing over as he warged.

Tyrion hated it when Bran did that. For once in his life, Tyrion wanted to be the Hand to a competent ruler, not one who was mad, or one who didn’t possess magical powers. For once in his life, Tyrion just wanted to serve as Hand to a normal man.

_‘You’re a Lannister,’_ that dark voice whispered in Tyrion’s mind once again _. ‘You’re better than these people, you are the one who should be king.’_

Tyrion tried to shake such thoughts from his mind, but they were frequent visitors.

Running his hand through his greying hair, Tyrion walked to his chambers. The whore that normally shared his bed wasn’t there, but Tyrion knew it wouldn’t take long to find her. However, as he poured himself a goblet of wine, something caught his eye.

A raven sat upon his windowsill, a letter tied to its leg. Frowning, Tyrion carefully approached it and took the letter, his green eyes scanning over the writing.

**_To the Imp,_ **

_I must say that I am impressed by your deception. Stirring the Lords of the Crownlands and luring me into a trap cost me most of the army I had outside of Dorne. I also almost lost one of my husbands._

_Then, you tried to capture my Mother._

_Again, I must say that I am impressed._

_But you failed to calculate everything. You failed to calculate that I might have found my Father. For the first time in three hundred years, House Targaryen has both dragons and it’s Three Heads._

_You tried to take something beloved to me, Lord Tyrion. I plan to do the same._

_By the time to receive this letter, it will be too late to stop me. I’ll try to not burn your Rock to the ground._

_Signed,_

**_Princess Rhyaenna of House Targaryen_ **

Tyrion’s heart had frozen in his chest, he couldn’t breathe.

He had expected an attack on King’s Landing as Rhyaenna to retaliate. Not an attack on Casterly Rock.

Slowly, all the pieces began to fit into place. There was a reason why the dragons weren’t on Dragonstone anymore…

Tyrion scrambled to get a pen, ink, and paper, he had to warn his nephew! His hand was trembling so greatly that Tyrion could hardly write, and tears began to slide down his cheeks. No raven could outfly a dragon, no matter how hard it would fly.

* * *

 

Jaime hated Casterly Rock. The castle was—although impressive—quite boring to the young Lord. There were balls, feasts, tourney’s; Jaime did everything that his Uncle told him too. However, Jamie couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Tyrion had this going on, because he wanted to distract Jamie.

Jaime heard the rumors about the Princess, he had heard she had burned down the Royal Fleet. At night Jamie would go to the sept and pray to the gods, begging them to protect his Uncle and Mother.

But Jaime wondered if they were even listening.

His mother had raised him to respect the Seven, but his King worshiped the Old Gods. The religious sects within King’s Landing seemed to be in a not-so-secret war among themselves, all fighting to control. Perhaps there was more out there in the world, more than Jaime thought there was.

But he was abruptly torn from his thoughts one day when he heard a horn blast from one of the towers.

That horn was only blown when an army was near to Casterly Rock, but Jaime didn’t know how an army could have gotten so close without them seeing. He ran to the battlements of the castle, pushing soldiers out of the way, to a sight that made the blood drain from his face. The bay in front of the castle was filled with ships, all bearing the Targaryen sigil upon their sails. The Princess had come here, but Jaime was confused as to why the sails bore only the Targaryen sigils now.

‘This is Uncle’s doing,’ Jaime thought in horror. ‘Uncle provoked her. Uncle has awoken the dragon. She’s going to rain down Fire and Blood upon us all.’

“What will we do, m’ lord?” A soldier asked Jaime.

Jaime looked at the man. “I… I don’t… we…”

“We need to secure the castle,” Joanna’s voice said.

Jaime turned to face the form of his sister, who had come out of nowhere. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard horns, just as you did,” Joanna replied. “We need to defend the castle. Casterly Rock is impregnable.”

Jaime nodded, remember the reputation of the castle. “You’re right. They can not get us if we’re inside.”

The sudden roar of a dragon made everyone jump, they looked to the skies to see seven forms flying in the sky.

“Unless it’s against dragons,” Jaime said. “Do you remember what happened during Harrenhall?”

“She’s not going to burn down this castle,” Joanna said. “She needs us alive, both of us.”

“To use us as hostages against Uncle,” Jaime said, nodding. “I need to get my armor on, you need to gather the women and…”

Joanna held up her hand. “I’m not leaving you to defend the castle by yourself. Mother trained us both was warriors, I don’t plan to cower and whimper like some idiot.”

Jaime knew better than to argue with his sister and turned to his commander. “Get the archers ready on the walls, get the hot coil and large stones. We will defend this castle until our dying breath.”

Upon the back of Drogon, Daenerys gazed down upon Casterly Rock, impressed by the ancient castle. She couldn’t help but be impressed, as next to Winterfell, it was one of the oldest castles in the kingdom. The plan was simple, Rhyaenna had explained it thoroughly, Daenerys and Jon were not to destroy the castle. Instead, the couple was to serve merely as a distraction, as were the ships in the fleet.

According to Corren, House Lannister had ten thousand men guarding both the castle and the surrounding area; and that was were Daenerys and Jon were to focus their firepower.

Daenerys snuck a quick peek at Jon, dressed in battle armor and strapped into a saddle. They had managed to find and use one of Drogon’s old harnesses to place on Alyserion, and it didn’t take Jon long to get used to it.

Daenerys quickly looked away so that Jon wouldn’t catch him watching, but she couldn’t stop the fluttering in her chest.

Jon looked undeniably handsome dressed in battle armor and upon a dragon, he was a Targaryen after all. Daenerys wondered if Jon was ready to accept his Targaryen heritage, or at least consider it. The two had slowly grown closer over the weeks they had spent traveling, although Daenerys was still distant. However, the Mother of Dragon’s allowed Jon to sleep with her, well, more-so sleep at her side and hold her. The night terrors that had plagued Daenerys since her murder had all but stopped, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of Jon’s touch.

“How is Rhyaenna expecting us to control all of these dragons?” Jon shouted to Daenerys, snatching her from her thoughts.

“According to Rhy, she’s told them to obey us,” Daenerys shouted back. “But I suggest we keep them away from the castle.”

“Agreed!” Jon replied. “Are you ready?”

Daenerys nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

* * *

 

In a small ship, Grey Worm looked to his daughter, the girl he had raised from birth. Missandei was dressed in light leather armor, the fashion of which mimicked Grey Worm’s own. She even wore a small three-headed dragon pin upon her breast, just like Grew Worm. Her black hair was bound into a braid and wrapped in a bun, her helmet under her arm.

She might not carry his blood, but Missandei carried his spirit… she carried Her spirit.

“Are you sure that you are ready?” he asked in High Valyrian.

“Of course, I am,” Missandei replied, her hazel eyes sparkling with exigent.

“This is not a game, Missa,” Grey Worm reminded her. “This is war, death is real here. I promised your mother that I would protect you.”

Grey Worm’s wife and youngest daughter were with the other portion of the army, the portion marching towards the Reach. His son, Norenno, was with this portion of the army, although he was in another boat.

“I do not need protecting,” Missandei huffed. “I am better than most men.”

Grey Worm tried to not smile in pride. “That is true, but you can not become overconfident in your skills. There is always someone faster, stronger, than you. How do you defeat them?”

“By being smarter,” Missandei replied.

Grey Worm nodded. “Exactly. You will be apart of the group Her Grace leads, you must show her that she can trust you.”

“Yes Father,” Missandei said, holding out her helmet for him to put it on.

Grey Worm took the object and carefully placed it on her head, tucking in her hair before nodding with approval. There wasn’t a day that went by in which Grey Worm did not wonder about his future with Her might have been like, how they would have spent their days. But Grey Worm was not one to linger upon what if’s, and he loved Rolla, he loved his family, he would protect them with his life.

“Dovaogēdy!” Grey Worm shouted from behind his helmet. “Prepare yourselves!”

In her ship, Rhyaenna gripped Valyrion, the new Valyrian steel sword of House Targaryen. Both the sword and armor that the Princess wore had been forged in Qohor, under the command of Daenerys. Rather than use normal steel however, Daenerys had commissioned Valyrian steel to be used, and the price tag it came with was almost two years’ worth of tribute. But Daenerys knew that it was worth it. Rhyaenna’s most vital organs were protected, and the thick leather undersuit allowed great mobility and flexibility. Rhyaenna’s Valyrian steel-tipped gloves clinking as she rippled her fingers, looking at her hand.

She had learned her lesson in the Crownlands, she would not repeat those same mistakes.

Corren and Vyreo looked at their wife from behind their helmets, a warrior queen in all but name. Today was the day in which she would baptize her blade in the blood of her enemies, and they would be right by her side.

“Knock!” a Lannister Commander barked to his men. “Aim!”

The small ships beached themselves upon the sandy beaches right below the Castle, Unsullied and Naath Warriors spilling out like a swarm.

“Shields!” Grey Worm yelled.

The Unsullied grabbed their shields and raised them above their heads in uniform formation, Vyreo, and Corren among them. With Grey Worm, the men were leading this assembled force of Unsullied and Naath Warriors. Together the small army marched toward the gates, the several layers of gates that were.

“Loose!” the Lannister Commander yelled.

A shower of arrows rained down from the heavens, almost blocking out the sun. Together the Unsullied and Naath Warriors huddled in a tight circle, keeping their shields positions outwards. They would hear the sound of arrows beating down upon the shields, and every now and then one could get through a crack and a soldier would be killed, but the gap would be swiftly closed.

Then the raining stopped, they then rushed forward faster, placing their ladders against the walls and began to climb up the walls.

But this was nothing more than a distraction.

On the other side of the castle, three tiny ships sailed toward a tiny crack among the walls. This was were Rhyaenna was.

The Princess stood on the bow of the ship, Missandei at her side and about five dozen female Warriors of Naath. This group had been assembled by Grey Worm himself, and although Missandei was supposed to be the Commander, they were here to follow Rhyaenna’s command.

“There it is,” Rhyaenna said, pointing to the small crack among the walls. “Your father was right.”

“Father is always right,” Missandei replied. “Well, in most cases.”

Rhyaenna couldn’t help but smile. “Ready?”

Missandei smirked. “I was born ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to get ready to rumble!!!! 
> 
> Rhy is decked out in Valyrian steel armor and she's ready to kick ass and take names! Next chapter comes Fire and Blood, and Rhy is going to meet Jaime and Joanna, how do you guys think that's going to go?
> 
> Also, what do you think of Rhy dropping the "Stark" part of her identity (for now) and embracing her Targaryen side? What about Jon and Dany, they're growing... closer, hehehe. They are no way close to sleeping together (honestly that's not happening until like the end of the book) but they are warming up together.
> 
> P.S. If I haven't told you guys yet: I'm making a sequel to this book! It's going to be REIGN OF DRAGONS AND WOLVES and will follow Rhy during most likely the first decade of her reign. More info will be coming soon!
> 
> Until next time!


	37. IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE!!!

_Hey guys!_

_So, this isn't an update to the actual book (still working on that) but I wanted to let you guys know that I'm remaking the companion book to this series. It's alright up, and I've already posted some information about House Targaryen & Rhyaenna, with more coming._

_Be sure to bookmark/subscribe to it, as I'll be updating it regularly as the story progresses, and leave all your questions/comments about the characters and things on them!_

_Also! Make sure to read CAREFULLY, as I'll be dropping hints on certain characters fates/sneak peeks into how the story is going to progress._

_Also, what do you guys think: is 2 books enough or should I make it 3? Kinda thinking of making a third book about the Rhy's heir and how he/she will navigate Westeros after their mother's death._

_Alright, got to get back to work but I wanted to tell you all this bit of news! The new chapter will be coming soon!_

[ **CLICK HERE!** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408488)

[ **CLICK HERE!** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408488)

[ **CLICK HERE!** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408488)

[ **CLICK HERE!** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408488)


	38. CHAPTER XXXVI: THE RAINS OF CASTAMERE

The cove was tiny but was just large enough for the women to slide inside. Using a torch brought with them, the women hurried through the tunnels until they came to a small latch. Three of them grabbed it at once and then pulled with all their might, the aged metal loudly creaking as it turned.

Rhyaenna poked her head out first, although it was stupid of her. She was the most important person in this group and should have had one of the other women do it, but as a leader, Rhyaenna knew she had to take risks. Carefully, she lifted herself up, shining the torch around as she realized she was in what appeared to be an old bedroom.

One by women the women climbed through the hole in the floor until they filled the room. Rhyaenna extinguished the torch and walked to the door, peeking through the crack. She could see Lannister soldiers running about, she could hear their commander’s shouting orders. They were inside one of the guard towers it seemed, just like Grey Worm had said.

_Perfect._

Rhyaenna waited for five heartbeats until she slowly opened the door, thankful that it didn’t creak to loudly. Her hand on her sword, Rhyaenna took tiny steps out of the room, ready for any sign of danger.

“Which way to the main gate?” Rhyaenna asked Missandei.

“According to Father we follow this hallway and then take two rights,” Missandei replied. “Right after we…”

“INTRUDERS!” a Lannister soldier suddenly yelled.

In the blink of an eye, a Naath Warrioress lifted her spear. Gripping it tightly, she gathered herself and threw it with all her might. The Lannister Solider had no way to defend himself, nor did he have time to dodge the razor-shop projectile being hurled his way. With a strangled yelp he was thrown back against the wall, the spear buried deeply into his chest, blood dripping out of his mouth.

“At least he went quickly,” a Naath Warrioress mumbled to herself.

“I thought the Naath didn’t believe in bloodshed,” Rhyaenna whispered to Missandei.

“We didn’t… until Father and his men came,” Missandei replied.

A dozen Lannister Soldiers came pouring out from one of the guard towers, swords, and spears in hand. Missandei turned to the women and barked a command in their tongue, the women stamping their spears twice on the ground before extending them protectively around the two young women.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Rhyaenna murmured, gripping her sword.

“They’re only men,” Missandei replied, drawing her dual blades.

Rhyaenna smirked, they were going to get along quite well. “For House Targaryen!”

“House Targaryen!” The women yelled, then they all charged.

In one of the nearby courtyards, Joanna ducked as an explosion of dragon fire slammed into one of the several castle towers. Ancient stone crumbling and falling upon the unfortunate men below. They were on the side of the castle that Grey Worm was attacking, their archers mostly cutting down any Unsullied of Naath Warrior that managed to get over the walls.

“I always hated that room anyway,” Joanna shouted to Jaime, the twins standing back to back, swords were drawn.

Jaime grunted as he blocked a swing by an Unsullied, driving his sword down to cut him across the chest. “Wasn’t that the room our old Septa locked you in for hours until you perfected that one stitch?”

“The very one,” Joanna replied, kicking a Naath Warrior in the stomach. “So glad the bitch died a week later from backed up bowls.”

“Why do I feel as if you were the cause of that?” Jaime wondered aloud.

Joanna said nothing, only shoving him out of the way as a spear came flying out of nowhere. The Lannister Lady looked up, a pair of golden eyes watching her from behind an Unsullied helmet.

For a moment those eyes held her captive, and Joanna found herself unable to move or tear her gaze away.

“Joanna!” Jaime yelled his turn now to shove his sister out of the way from a random spear.

Joanna fell to the ground, her sword being knocked from her hand as she looked around, the gaze over. “W-Wha… huh?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jaime shouted. “We’re in the middle of a battle, now’s not the time to go crazy.”

“I’m not… I didn’t…” Joanna stammered.

She looked up, back at where she saw those golden eyes, only to see that they were no longer there. ‘Who the hell was that…?’

Jaime hurried to get back on his feet and cut through the spear of another Naath Warrior, stabbing the man in the heart. “Damn it… how many are there?”

“Stop acting like such a baby,” Joanna said, standing up. “They haven’t gotten the front gates open, we’re perfect—”

The words died on her lips at the loud creaking of a gate. The Twins looked at each other before hurrying to one of the walls, watching in horror as a small team of women, they hadn’t even noticed, pull on the thick ropes that held up the bar holding the gate shut. Countless bodies littered the ground of the women, showing their mastery of war.

“Men to us!” Jamie shouted, hoping with all his heart that someone was still alive in this section of the castle. “Men to us!”

On the ground, Rhyaenna pulled with all her might against the thick rope. Along with Missandei and four other women, they pulled until they heard the low groan of the beam giving way.

“Almost got it!” Rhyaenna yelled. “Come on, PULL!”

Together, the women yelled, pulling with all their worth as they yanked the beam out of place, allowing the rest of the army to pour into Casterly Rock.

“My Lord, you must go!” A Lannister Commander said, grabbing Jaime’s arm.

“I’m not abandoning my men!” Jaime shouted back. “I will stay and die here!”

“Then to the Great Hall then,” Joanna suggested. “We can bolt the doors from the inside. They can’t get us that way.”

“B—But…” Jaime stammered, only to be shaken by his sister.

“Listen to me, Jaime,” Joanna said through clenched teeth. “What do you think the Dragon Queen and her daughter will do to us, once they have us in their claws? Our heads will be delivered on pikes to Uncle!”

Jamie looked down into the courtyard, one of the female warriors lifting her head to look at him. Her hazel eyes met his green, some part of Jaime stirring at their beauty. The fire behind those eyes drew Jaime in, he had never seen such eyes in Westeros before. He was cursed enough that those eyes belonged to his enemy.

“Alright, let’s go,” Jaime said, grabbing Joanna’s hand, the Twins running in the opposite direction.

* * *

 

Missandei watched as the golden-haired young man and woman ran off, their guards locking into position behind them to hold back their escape.

“I’m guessing that is Jaime Lannister and his sister, Your Grace,” Missandei said to Rhyaenna.

Rhyaenna looked up, “Looks like they are trying to escape, do we have the whole castle surrounded?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Grey Worm said, appearing at their side. “Your parents control the skies, so no one can escape.”

Rhyaenna nodded. “Missandei, come with me, we have Lions to hunt.”

Rhyaenna picked up a shield from a fallen Unsullied and charged forward, swinging her sword with expert skill, cutting down anyone who got in her way. At her side was Missandei and her brother, as well as Vyreo and Corren; the latter of which ad found their wife among the center of the chaos. Grey Worm leads most of the warriors to secure the castle, distracting most of the soldiers while in the skies Daenerys and Jon rained down dragon fire.

More and more Lannister soldiers seemed to appear the deeper Rhyaenna went into the castle, telling the Princess that she was heading in the right direction. She needed the Lannister Twins for her vengeance against Tyrion, the man who had tried to take her own family for her, but was Rhyaenna ready to kill them?

Their small group finally came before a large pair of doors, the roaring golden lions revealing it’s great importance. A dozen Lannister soldiers stood in front of the door, their swords drawn, ready to defend what lay behind those magnificent doors.

Blood dripped from Rhyaenna’s sword, the Princess was panting heavily and her muscles screamed for her to stop. But she couldn’t. Behind those doors had to be the Lannister Twins, and Rhyaenna had come too far than to back down now. Flexing her fingers, Rhyaenna cracked her knuckles before lunging forward with a scream of determination.

Inside the Great Hall, Jaime and Joanna stood in the center of two dozen heavily armed men. Outside, the Twins could hear screams of pain, gurgles of death, and steel striking against steel.

This Princess was bold and persistent, they could give her that.

Jaime glanced to his sister, watched as Joanna tensed with every slam of a body or fist against the massive doors. ‘This could be it,’ he thought. ‘This could be the day of my death.’

Suddenly the doors jerked, flinging open as a white-headed young woman with violet eyes strode into the Great Hall, leading a small group of soldiers. Blood covering her face and armor, it was dripping down the sword clenched tightly in her hand as she glared at Jaime and his sister.

“Here, Kitty, Kitty,” the Woman purred. “The Dragon wants to say hello.”

Jaime held his sword in front of him protectively, Joanna and the soldiers surrounding them doing the same. “Stand down, and we might let you live,” Jaime yelled.

Rhyaenna snorted. “You’ll let me live? Don’t make me laugh. Drop your swords and surrender, and I promise that I’ll deliver you to your Uncle in one piece.”

“Never!” Joanna shouted.

Rhyaenna shrugged, getting into a fighting stance. “Oh well, I tried.”

She nodded to the men and women around her, Joanna’s eyes widening as she saw the man who possessed the Golden Eyes that had captivated here mere moments before. Jaime as well was shocked, as the woman with the Hazel Eyes stood close to this Princess, and was holding a pair of dual swords ready to fight.

Jaime’s eyes darted to his sister and his men, his mind racing. He wanted to fight, he was a Lannister, he should fight to his death rather than be captured, but the roar of dragons outside made his blood run cold. If they fought then Jaime knew that they would all be killed, House Lannister would be wiped from the face of the Earth. Legacy, that was what his Grandfather wanted for his family; at least that was what Tyrion told his niece and nephew. A Lion survived at all costs, was what Tyrion told Jaime growing up, he had to survive this.

“Stop,” Jaime suddenly said, holding ups his hands, dropping his sword to the ground. “I surrender.”

“Are you mad?” Joanna hissed to her Twin. “They’ll kill us all!”

“No, she’s not,” Jaime whispered back. “She needs us alive. Dead will infuriate our Uncle, stirring up the Westerlands. Alive, she holds us captive and we can figure out a way to undermine her.”

Joanna looked to this Princess, she heard the dragons roaring and knew that her brother spoke the truth. “Men,” she finally said. “Drop your swords. House Lannister surrenders to the Targaryen Army.”

* * *

 

Rhyaenna was ready to fight, to kill the last two Lannister Heirs without batting an eye. But then they surrendered.

Daenerys had drummed it into Rhyaenna’s head that once people surrendered, you were supposed to accept it. Yet, a dark voice whispered in Rhyaenna’s mind to press forward. These were the niece and nephew of the man who had tried to kill her own mother. Rhyaenna’s personal honor demanded that she deliver their heads to Tyrion. But, they had surrendered.

“This could be a trick,” Missandei whispered to Rhyaenna. “To draw you close, then drive a dagger through the heart.”

“Best to kill them now,” Vyreo whispered. “Get it over with, cut off the heads of the snake and the nest dies.”

Rhyaenna grit her teeth, weighing her options. It would be easy to kill both Lannister Twins, after all, who was going to stop her? Her soldiers would easily dispatch the Lannister ones, after of which the Twins would be at her mercy. Then, she could install a puppet in the Westerlands, one that would bow to her easily.

_‘But would I be willing to compromise my honor for such a thing?’_ Rhyaenna thought.

“No,” Rhyaenna said aloud, looking to her group. “House Lannister has more blood on its hands than any other Great House. They have murdered and raped countless men, women, and children, in their quest for power. I will not do the same.” She pointed her sword to the Twins. “You, what are your names?”

“Jaime,” Jaime replied. “This is my sister, Joanna.”

“I am Princess Rhyaenna of House Targaryen,” Rhyaenna replied. “From this moment on you are my prisoners and I lay claim to this castle for my House.”

Jaime and Joanna didn’t have a chance to retort, as moments later Grey Worm and the rest of Rhyaenna’s forces appeared in the throne room. They had no choice but to agree.

The Twins were seized by several Unsullied and marched outside to the large courtyard, where the remaining Lannister soldiers had been gathered. The once infamous and feared Lannister army had been crushed in a single afternoon by an army lead by what most would view as a young girl.

In the skies above, Daenerys and Jon could see Rhyaenna’s silver head, Daenerys’s heart skipping a beat as she sighed in relief. Her daughter was alright, she was safe.

Slowly, everyone was marched out of the castle and onto the grassy field that was on the South of the castle. Daenerys and Jon landed the dragons, although the smaller ones remained in the air, only Aenerys landed to stand next to her mistress.

“Some of you know who I am,” Rhyaenna said, her voice loud for all to hear. “Some do not allow me to give you clarity. I am Rhyaenna, Princess of House Targaryen, daughter of Queen Daenerys and Jon Snow. I am here to take the throne of Westeros, as it is my birthright, but I do not want to leave a path of blood trailing behind me. I will unite Westeros, and to do that I need the support of everyone, from the highest lord to the lowest smallfolk. I did not attack you for no reason, your current Lord, Tyrion Lannister, cowardly attacking Dragonstone while I was away to murder my mother. Honor demands blood for what happened to her, but I do not want to lay that on the feet of the men who had no part in this.”

The Lannister soldiers all began to shift nervously, glancing about.

“The wounded on both sides need to be attended too,” Rhyaenna continued. “And I will allow it to happen. For you, lowly soldiers, my qualm is not with you, but the Lord who governs you. But I can not let this crime and insult against me and mine go unpunished. Those who are commanders step forward.”

Slowly, fifteen Commanders of the Lannister army stepped forward, their knees trembling under the glare of the fire breathing dragons.

“I have concluded that one of you shall die,” Rhyaenna said to the commanders. “But, I shall let you all decide. Chose the one most worthy among you to die.”

The Commanders looked among themselves and began to shout and yell, fighting before shoving a man to the ground before Rhyaenna.

“Him,” one of the Commanders said. “He’s lowborn, a nobody. He comes from no noble blood! He’s useless.”

Rhyaenna looked to Grey Worm and then her mother, Daenerys giving her daughter a small nod.

“Seize them all,” Rhyaenna said. “Except that one.”

The Unsullied rushed forward, grabbing the remaining fourteen Lannister Commander’s and forcing them to their knees. Pulling their heads back, the Unsullied waited for Grey Worms signal, before taking out their daggers and slicing clean through the throats of the struggling men. The Lannister Commanders gurgled as their drowned in their own blood, the Unsullied tossing them to the ground to let them bleed out.

Jaime and Joanna were frozen, unable to tear their gaze away. “Y-You told them to choose…”

“To see if they had any loyalty among themselves,” Rhyaenna explained. “And clearly, they did not.” She turned to the remaining Commander, slowly approaching the trembling man. “You survived because I let you,” she said. “To are alive because the men you thought you could trust, sold you to save their own skins and because they believed themselves you superior. In my Westeros, this will not be. Anyone, no matter their birth rank, will be able to have a position if they work hard for it. Is this a future you desire?”

“Y-Yes…” the Commander stammered, dropping to his knees. “Y-Your Grace.”

Rhyaenna nodded and looked to Grey Worm. “Have their heads and sword hands cut off, and sent to Lord Tyrion,” she said, nodding to the now-dead Commanders. “This is a warning: Fire and Blood is coming.”

Grey Worm nodded and bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Rhyaenna turned to the Twins. “Now, I do believe it’s time we talked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was intense, wasn't it? Tell me, what did you guys think of the chapter? Was Rhy right to spare the Twins? Or should she have cut their heads off and sent them to Tyrion? There's a reason though, that she's keeping them alive.
> 
> Also, looks like Jaime and Joanna have been a little starstruck by Grey Worm's children, so that's going to be interesting; hehe! Next chapter will be a bit of a cool down from the recent fighting, and Rhy must once again enter the political world of Westeros.
> 
> Oh, for those who don't know, I'm making a companion book for this series and you can no see the face claims/outfits/weapons that I'm describing in this series.
> 
> **[CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408488) **


	39. CHAPTER XXXVII: LIONS AND BUTTERFLIES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhy decides what to do with Joanna and Jaime.

Since the founding of their House by Lan the Clever, House Lannister has mastered the game of thrones. Lann’s cleverness was so widely known that he managed to swindle Casterly Rock from House Casterly, right from under their noses. For hundreds of years, his descendants continued his work, weaving themselves closer to the ultimate goal: having all of Westeros under their thumb. Under the leadership of Tywin, it was almost achieved, they even managed to seemingly wipe out the most powerful House in the world: House Targaryen.

But the Lions did not find the true nest.

As a dragon egg will wait centuries before being hatched, House Targaryen had to wait two lifetimes before the true Heir of Aegon the Conqueror could be born. For the first time in over 300 years, House Targaryen was back in its rightful place in the world, and the last two heirs of House Lannister were the ones caged. The Targaryen flag snapped in the wind above Casterly Rock, as dragons circled in the skies above.

“You have to kill them,” Vyreo argued. “They have to pay for what their Uncle did.”

Rhyaenna and her unofficial Small Council sat around a table in the Lion’s Cave, the main bedchamber for the Lord of Casterly Rock. For the last three hours, the Princess had listened to the Council argue back and forth about the fates of the Lannister Twins.

“They had no part in what Tyrion did,” Jon argued back. “You can not blame children for the sin’s of their family.”

“House Lannister has more blood on its hands than any other House in the world,” Daenerys snapped. “Tywin ordered the Sack. He ordered the murder of Rhaegar’s wife and children. If anything, these Twins deserve the same fate.”

Jon staggered back, shocked by her venom. He knew that Daenerys held House Lannister personally responsible for the murder and slaughter of her whole family. The Martell Princess and her children could have easily been imprisoned or sent away. But no, death was the only thing House Lannister desired, and death was what they had given the three innocent souls.

The Council was split. Daenerys, Grey Worm, and Vyreo were for formally executing the Twins. Corren and Jon were against it. Rhyaenna and Grey Worm’s children were silent.

“What do you say, Rhyaenna?” Jon asked, turning to look at his daughter, desperate for an ally.

“I… I don’t know…” Rhyaenna stammered.

Rhyaenna understood that by executing the Twins then it would send a firm message throughout all of Westeros: no one came for her family. Yet, Rhyaenna wasn’t sure if she was ready to take that step. She had already been reckless and foolish by rushing into that littler skirmish in the Crownlands, the last thing that Rhyaenna needed was something like that happening again.

“Rhy,” Daenerys said, trying to turn her daughter to her side. “This is the family who killed my niece, my nephew, and my sister-in-law. They were hand wrapped in red Lannister cloaks, placed at the feet of the Usurper.”

“Not to mention Tyrion tried to deliver the same fate upon you, Your Grace,” Grey Worm said, looking to Daenerys.

Jon frowned. He didn’t like the way that Grey Worm was looking at Daenerys. The Unsullied General gazed upon his former lover with such… admiration. Jealousy bubbled within the former Northern King, as Jon moved to stand between Daenerys and Grey Worm; blocking her from his view.

“Lord Tyrion will not hesitate to put an arrow through your heart,” Vyreo said to Rhyaenna. “You need to strike him now and show him that you’re not some weak-willed Southern Westerosi girl.”

“As someone with sisters who reside within from Southern Westeros, I take offense to that, Braavosi,” Corren snapped, turning to his wife. “Rhy, please, listen to me, there are other ways to secure their loyalty. Mercy is better than murder.”

Daenerys leaped to her feet, tears swimming in her violet eyes. “Tell that to my family,” she said, storming from the room

Grey Worm stood up to follow her, but Jon beat him to the door. Shooting Grey Worm a dirty look, Jon followed Daenerys down the halls, hoping she would accept his help.

Rhyaenna watched her parents leave and bit her bottom lip. “I… I don’t know what to do,” she confessed. “I know that by delivering their heads to Tyrion would be easier. I could even find a minor Westerland Lord to use as my puppet here. But, the Lannister’s are loved here, and if I kill the last two heirs of the true House then I would alienate them.”

“What other way is there to secure them to your side then?” Vyreo asked, throwing up his hands. “There is no other way, Rhy! I’ll deliver the blows myself, if you want, I’ll make it quick.”

“There are plenty of other ways to secure allegiances,” Corren said, pacing the floor. “Ways like… like… like marriage.”

Everyone looked in his direction, Rhyaenna arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean.

“Marriage, it’s the perfect way to secure House Lannister to your side, and you won’t shed a drop of blood,” Corren explained. “Just as you secured House Manderly to your side, the same can be done for House Lannister.”

Rhyaenna frowned. “I am not giving them one of my children. And even if I could, I doubt we will have the time to wait. Besides, what’s to stop either of them marrying a powerful Lord or Lady to use against me? We just don’t have the time. I… I’m sorry Corren, but we might have to kill them for the greater good…”

Corren shook his head, refusing to believe that. “Then it has to happen quicker than,” he said. “And they have to marry people close to you, people you know that can be trusted and won’t betray you, no matter what…”

His eyes swept over the room before landing upon Missandei and Norenno.

* * *

 

“Daenerys!” Jon called, chasing after his former lover. “Daenerys, stop!”

Daenerys ignored him, and instead continued to rush down the halls, needing to get as far away from everyone as possible. Jon, however, managed to catch up with her and grabbed Daenerys’s arm, only for her to whip around and slap him hard across the cheek.

“Ow!” Jon yelped, holding his face. “Fuck, Daenerys! What the seven hells was that for?”

“How can you be on the side of letting them live?” Daenerys asked, hot tears pouring down her cheeks. “They, the House that murdered your brother, sister, and their mother? They would have smothered you in your cradle if they knew the truth of your birth.”

“You act as if I don’t have anger within me,” Jon replied. “They were a family that I didn’t know, a family that I’d dreamed of growing up. In Winterfell, I was the Infamous Bastard, hated by everyone except for a handful of people. If anyone in this castle should be angry, it is I. But I refuse to hold those children—children who were neither born nor thought of during that tragedy—responsible for what happened. Tywin Lannister was the cause of my family’s deaths, and Tywin Lannister is dead. You cannot keep on looking to the past, Daenerys. Old wounds will always fester if you continue to open them.”

Daenerys jerked her head away, but Jon grabbed her chin, gently turning her face back to look at him.

“I love you Daenerys,” Jon whispered. “During these twenty years, all I have dreamed of, wanted, was to hold you in my arms again. We have a chance of a new future, a daughter for us both to enjoy.” His hand slid down to cup her back. “We can grow old together, Dany. We can sit around the fire and watch our grandchild play with Ghost and his pups, or help them with dragon riding lessons. The future is ours, Dany… all we must do is take it.”

Jon’s mouth descended upon Daenerys’s, his hand holding her back so their bodies would stay pressed together.

A warm, bubbling sensation of pleasure rippled throughout Daenerys’s body, starting at her toes and slowly moving up. Jon’s kisses were special, as a man of little words, he preferred his actions to speak for him. Jon’s hand moved slowly down Daenerys’s back, cupping her bottom against the fabric of her dress. This annoyed him, however, as the fabric was a barrier between them, and Jon hungered to touch her flesh.

Slowly, Jon backed Daenerys into a corner, his hand ducking under her dress, sliding up her thighs as he moved to his target. Daenerys’s flesh was hot through the thin fabric of her tight trousers, like the dragon queen she was, and this only drove Jon’s hunger for her. Gone were the thoughts of disgust of their familiar relations, all Jon wanted at that moment was Daenerys and Daenerys alone.

Daenerys uttered a soft gasp as Jon’s fingers found her core, as his hand had found their way into her trousers. Her head tilted back, Jon taking the invitation to press his lips to her neck as he slowly slid a finger inside her. She was dripping, years of being without a lover showing. Jon’s fingers began to stroke Daenerys’s inner walls, his thumb pressing against her sacred pearl, evoking moans of pleasure that had haunted Jon’s dreams.

But as Jon’s fingers continued to drive Daenerys mad, visions of the past began to flash in Daenerys’s mind.

The throne room of King’s Landing.

Jon cupping her face, pulling her in for a deep kiss as he proclaimed his love.

No, not for a deep kiss. He was pulling her in to get into a better position to plunge his dagger into her heart.

“No…” Daenerys whispered. “No… Not again…”

Jon did not hear her and instead began to untie his own trousers, his grey eyes glazed over with lust for her.

“NO!” Daenerys screamed, shoving Jon back with all her might.

Jon staggered back, his trousers half-undone as he looked to her in confusion. “W-What?”

“I can’t do this…” Daenerys whispered. “I’m sorry…”

With that she fled, hot tears once again pouring down her cheeks, Daenerys running as fast and as far as she possibly could away from him.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, inside the Lioness’s Keep—the chamber of which the maiden daughters of the Lord of Casterly Rock normally slept in before they received their own—Joanna paced the floor like a caged beast.

The Twins had been placed in here after Rhyaenna had captured the castle, with Unsullied guards placed in front of the door and under the terrace. The chamber was chosen because of the thick walls and doors, in fact, it was this chamber that the women were kept in case of an attack. No one loyal to their House could visit the Twin’s, and food was inspected before being given to them, and they had to eat it in front of the guards.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Jaime said.

Joanna looked at her brother, laying on one of the beds. “How can you sleep during a time like this?”

“I’m not sleeping,” Jaime replied. “I’m resting.”

“Correction, how can you rest at a time like this?” Joanna demanded. “You should be plotting an escape like I am!”

Jaime sat up on his elbow. “How do you plan to escape? We can’t go out the front door, nor can we go out the window. We’ll be captured, and who knows what’ll happen to us? Right now, all we need to do is bide our time until Uncle comes to save us.”

“Sometimes I wonder which of us has the cock here,” Joanna snapped. “That girl is deciding our fate, and House Lannister has done everything but slaughters her family. What do you think she’s going to do?”

Jaime opened his mouth to reply, only to shut it when the lock in the door began to rattle. The Twin sat up, Jaime pulling his sister to stand behind him as the doors opened and Rhyaenna stepped inside, flanked by a young woman and man who stood at her sides.

It was the young ebony-skinned woman that grew Jaime’s attention, as she was the one who possessed those captive hazel eyes. She was tall, had a warrior’s body, had lush curves, and plump lips; the opposite of the Westerosi women that Jaime had grown up with.

“What are you doing here?” Joanna asked. “What are you going to do with us?”

Rhyaenna crossed her hands in front of her. “I am here to offer congratulations.”

“For what?” Jamie asked.

“You’re wedding that’s to take place within the week,” Rhyaenna replied. “It’s going to be quite the event.”

“Wedding?” Joanna repeated. “Who’s wedding…”

“Us…” Jaime whispered, instantly connecting the dots. “You’re marrying us off to… to who?”

Rhyaenna gestured to the man and woman at her side. “Allow me to present Missandei, the future bride of you, Lord Jaime; and Norenno, the future groom of you, Lady Joanna.”

“You can’t do this,” Joanna protested. “We won’t do it! We won’t agree!”

“Oh yes you will,” Rhyaenna said, slowly walking to stand in front of the prideful lioness. “Your Uncle tried to kidnap and most likely murder my mother, that is a stain and insult to my honor. You and your brother will marry Missandei and her brother, or else I’ll personally deliver your heads to your Uncle on the back on Drogon; before I set all of King’s Landing flame. Is that what you want?”

The blood drained from Joanna’s face. “Y-You wouldn’t… there are innocent people…”

“This is war,” Rhyaenna said, hating she had to act this way. “There is no such thing as innocence. It’s either ally or enemy, and right now you are my enemy. Now in a week you both will stand before the Septon and say your vows, legally binding House Lannister to me and my cause. Am I understood?”

Joanna’s lip trembled, a silent teat sliding down her cheek. For years, she had fought against this, her greatest fear of being forced into marriage. Uncle Tyrion had betrothed her to Robert Baratheon against her will, now this Dragon Princess was betrothing her to some random savage from a tiny island. It was a nightmare.

Jaime rushed to his sister’s side, touching her shoulder as Joanna began to silent sob into his chest. Normally Joanna was the strong one, she was the one who supported Jaime. Now, it was his turn to return the favor.

“We’ll do it,” Jaime said, rubbing his sister’s back. “But only if you swear to us, and before the gods that you will not burn down King’s Landing.”

“You have my word,” Rhyaenna said, giving them a small smile. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Servants will come to get your measurements for our clothes and begin to decorate the castle. Of course, we’ll have to invite the other Lord’s in the region, this has to be official of course.” She looked to Missandei and Norenno. “Follow me please, you need to get fitted as well.”

Missandei followed after Rhyaenna instantly, but Norenno hesitated. The Naath Warrior looked at the sobbing form of the woman that was to be his wife a moment, before leaving as well, his expression unreadable.

* * *

 

This wedding was going to have to happen quickly, everyone knew that. It wouldn’t take long for word to reach Tyrion of the weddings of his Niece and Nephew, but by then it would be too late. At least that was what Rhyaenna was hoping for.

Casterly Rock, although firmly under control of House Targaryen, had to be opened for the Lords of the Westerlands. Everyone had to bear witness to the event, as it would be all the more a slap in the face to Lord Tyrion.

The days leading up the wedding Joanna, Jaime, Missandei, and Norenno were all fitted for their wedding clothes. Joanna and Missandei were to wear dresses made of the purest of white silk, while Jaime and Norenno were allowed suits of whatever colors they would want. Rhyaenna had selected red and gold for Jaime, while Norenno had chosen black, honoring his adopted father.

Meanwhile, the castle was decorated to the highest chance of luxury, after all, these were Lannister’s marrying.

Fresh flowers were gathered so that the air would smell sweet. The cooks and wenches in the kitchens worked days and night to prepare the massive feast. The guest chambers were cleaned until they gleamed, everything had to be perfect. But a shadow loomed over the décor. Among the red and gold lions were large banners of black and red dragons.

It was only an illusion for those to believe this was merely a wedding. An Oath Swearing Ceremony was to be held as well, where Jaime and Joanna would declare their loyalty for House Targaryen, and denounce their ‘traitorous’ uncle.

The guests all began to arrive two days before the planned wedding, a line a mile long stretched all along the Goldroad. Carriages and draft horses all carrying the noble families of the Westerlands, as well as their belongings. The banners of the House’s Banefort, Brax, Broom, Clegane, Crakehall, Farman, Lefford, Lydden, Marbrand, Payne, Prester, Serrett, Swyft, Tarbeck, and Westerling; all snapped in the wind. There were only two other castles in all of Westeros large enough to contain this many people, and they were Winterfell and the Red Keep.

The eldest maiden daughters of the Westerlands were chosen to act as handmaids for Joanna and Missandei, while the unmarried sons were to be footmen for Jaime and Norenno. By Rhyaenna’s instruction, the day before the wedding Joanna and Missandei were moved into a joining chamber, while the same happened for Jaime and Norenno. Neither could said much to the other, not that they cared, but this was to be a real wedding and soon they would all be bound together under the eyes of the gods.

The sun rose early, on the day of the joint wedding, and with the rising of the sun so was everyone stirred. Well, mostly everyone.

Rhyaenna had spent her night moving from husband to husband, riding one with the fierceness of dragon, only to allow herself to be ridden after a short break. This had gone on for hours, Vyreo and Corren taking turns to allow the other to rest, but Rhyaenna would not be denied. Her carnal hunger exhausted the two young men, both of which were confused, surprised, a little worried.

“Are you alright, my Love?” Corren asked, finally waving the white flag of surrender to his wife as the teensiest sliver of the sun peeked over the hills.

“Of course, I am,” Rhyaenna replied, her face flushed, her eyes glassy with desire. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve just never been…this hard to satisfy,” Vyreo replied, crossing his arms. “I mean, you normally can go for hours, well onto midnight if you want it enough…”

“But all damn night, woman?!” Corren exclaimed. “My mother always said women carrying children are the hardest to satisfy.”

Rhyaenna crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. She had missed her moon blood the night before, but it was still too early to tell if she was carrying a child or not. In Meereen, Rhyaenna would sometimes miss her moon blood if she was stressed or worried about something. Right now, Rhyaenna’s stress levels were as high as the clouds. There was nothing to worry about.

“Think about it like this,” Rhyaenna said, playfully smiling. “You both can boast you’ve ridden a dragon.”

Vyreo chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close as he kissed her deeply. “Mmm… true…”

“Vyreo, don’t get her started,” Corren said, rolling his eyes. “Keep that up, and we’ll never get down to the wedding.”

Vyreo laughed, kissing Rhyaenna’s neck before he pulled away, knowing that his friend spoke the truth.

A hot bath was drawn for the trio to share, although only Rhyaenna stepped into the bubbling water. Vyreo and Corren instead decided to wash up in the basin, rather than to be boiled alive.

As the sun rose higher and higher, the people within the castle began to stir.

The first event of the day was a casual, light-hearted breakfast in the gardens, but then again, who could be happy when in truth this was a hostage situation? Somewhere, no doubt not far, were seven dragons, all waiting for the command of their Masters. There were, in fact, two breakfast events, one for the women and one for the men. The meal consisted of slivered eggs, toasts, jams, cheese, watered-down wine, and fresh fruits. No meat was served, as it was considered to be for the special occasions of the Great Feast.

At the Head Table Rhyaenna sat between Joanna and Missandei, watching as the noble ladies presented gifts to the two young women. There were bolts of rich cloth, toys for future children, storybooks, clothes, shoes, jewelry; it was a noble woman’s dream. Well, for noblewomen who weren’t Joanna Lannister and Missandei.

“These women must think us as nothing more than dolls, heads filled with cotton,” Missandei grumbled under her breath.

“Anyone who knows me knows I would prefer a sword or a damn sewing needle,” Joanna replied.

“When I’m Queen, this will be the first thing to go,” Rhyaenna said. “It doesn’t make any sense for the men to get swords and weapons most likely, while we get items for children.”

The three young women stopped and looked at each other, an uneasy silence falling upon them. No one knew what to say or do. Joanna thought that Rhyaenna hated her, and Rhyaenna and Missandei thought that Joanna hated them. Yet, all were surprised to find out that they shared some similarities.

As for the men, Jaime watched as two minor Lords’ sons began to get into a drunken brawl, only to be led out by guards. Jaime and Norenno were being watched by Vyreo, Corren, and Jon; although it was the former who was doing much of the watching.

“You better not hurt my sister,” Jaime said, turning to look at Norenno.

The young Naath Warrior arched an eyebrow.

“I mean it,” Jaime replied. “If Joanna has so much as a bruise on her, you’ll regret it.”

Again, Norenno said nothing, the young man pushing away his untouched food. Gifts of weapons, clothes, shoes, saddles, books, and other items worthy of a Lord of Westeros were presented between the two. He nodded to the men who gave him the gifts, but the Naath Warrior did not know what to do with them.

But before long the wedding breakfast came to an end, and it became time for the actual wedding preparations to begin.

The couples were led back to their chambers and their casual clothing was taken off and replaced with the richer clothing that they were to wear for the wedding. The Westerlands lords and ladies buzzed around them bees, priming and prepping them, making sure that they looked undeniably perfect. Or at least got close to it.

Inside the sept, Rhyaenna sat between her parents, Vyreo and Corren sitting behind them. All members of House Targaryen wore the colors of their House, the imposing red and black, with dragon sigils somewhere upon their collars. Jon was not excluded from this, today was the first time that anyone, in all the Seven Kingdoms, saw him in the Targaryen colors.

His declaration of his loyalty was as clear as day. Jon was loyal to House Targaryen, and house Targaryen alone. It wouldn’t take long for ravens to reach Winterfell, and Sansa would be furious once word came to her. But Jon didn’t care, he wasn’t going to ever betray Rhyaenna or Daenerys ever again, and that was a promise.

* * *

 

The doors of the sept opened as a herald cleared his throat and announced the emergence of Jaime and Norenno.

The two young men walked slowly down the center aisle and stood before the Septon who was officiating the ceremony. A hush fell over the crowd of over a hundred men and women as the Septon opened the book before he began to pray, before reciting scripture through the Seven’s holy book: The Seven-Pointed Star.

Rhyaenna merely rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, drumming her fingers against the well-polished wood. The Septon continued for what felt like hours before he finally finished with reading from the book. Everyone stood to their feet as the doors opened once again. A small choir was signaled and they began to sing as Joanna and Missandei were lead down the aisle, Missandei by Grey Worm, and Joanna by her closest living Lannister male relative.

They came to a stop at the bottom of the tall dais, the two men letting go of the women before returning to their seats. Holding their dresses, the two sound women walked slowly up the stairs, coming to stand before their respective grooms.

Jaime felt a lump form in his throat as he took in Missandei’s beauty, the dark-brown of her skin contrasting perfectly with her ivory dress. Norenno felt his mouth go dry at the sight of Joanna, as never before did the man ever think himself worthy of such a breathtaking bride. Now that the couples were together, the ceremony between them and the Septon could officially begin.

The Septon cleared his throat and turned to face the men, “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection, my lords.”

Jaime went first. Taking off the simple cloak that Missandei wore and replaced it with his own. The cloak that Missandei wore was a simple black one, as she did not come from any type of noble house, nor did she have any sigils. Jaime replaced with Missandei's plain cloak with one the ladies of the Westerlands would be envious of. Made with thick, glossy red velvet, the golden lion sigil of House Lannister sparkled and gleamed, the wealth of the family on full display.

Norenno was next, taking off Joanna’s Lannister cloak and replacing it with one made of black silk, with the images of silver butterflies stitched onto it as well. Just like when Rhyaenna was married to Vyreo and Corren, this action symbolized bringing the bride under the grooms’ protection and into his family.

Once this was finished, the Septon then proclaimed, “My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

The couples then held hands as they stood side-by-side, the Septon taking two large ribbons which then tied around their joined hands.

“Let it be known,” The Septon said. “These Lord Jaime of House Lannister and Lady Missandei of Naath, and Lord Norenno of Naath and Lady Joanna of House Lannister are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity!”

Slowly he pulled at the ribbon, unbinding them physically but keeping them bound spiritually for the rest of their lives.

“My Lords and Ladies,” the Septon said. “Look upon each other and say the words.”

Jaime and Joanna turned to face their partners, for the first time they were forced to stare into Missandei and Norenno’s eyes to recite the proper vows. The words had been taught to Missandei and Norenno a day ago, although neither of them really understood their meaning.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger...” the couples said together. “I am hers/his and he/she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.” They look a breath. “With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

Slowly they leaned forward to press their lips together, sealing their vows with a kiss. Rather than be a slow, quick peck, as Rhyaenna thought it would be, instead the kisses lingered for a couple of moments longer than they needed. Yet, they were broken eventually, the couples turning to face the cheering and clapping audience.

* * *

 

After the wedding ceremony was the Great Feast, in which food from all over the Westerlands was brought and displayed. There were countless courses, first coming to the Table of Honor where the couples sat on either side of Rhyaenna; before being sent out of the other lords according to rank.

This was the time in which the couples were supposed to talk, to kiss, to flirt; to show their love for each other. But the air was frosty between the couples. Neither of them looked at the other, neither said nothing more than was customary.

Rhyaenna watched this with a frown, knowing that this was not how marriages were supposed to be. There was supposed to be love, laughter, joking, the air was to fill warm; not as icy as the North. Hopefully, this would change.

It didn’t take long for the lords to fall deep into their cups of wine, or feast upon the rich foods. Although Rhyaenna didn’t each much, she found herself enjoying the taste of the roasted citrus duck, as well as a distaste for the wine and instead drank freshly boiled fruit water, chilled with ice brought from a nearby mountain.

But as the hours grew late, the time came for the two events that were on the back of everyone’s minds: the Oath Ceremony, and the Bedding.

Jaime and Missandei were first, the young Lannister standing to his feet and holding up his hands for silence.

“My lords and ladies,” Jaime said, repeated the rehearsed lines. “We have gathered today for the wonderful day that is my wedding. My beautiful bride and I can not wait to retire to our chamber to make little lions for our House, but first, I must say something important.” He turned to Rhyaenna. “Your Grace, I place myself at your feet and swear House Lannister to you and your cause. I declare you, the rightful Queen of Westeros, and turn my back upon my traitorous Uncle, Lord Tyrion. From this day forth, Lord Tyrion is no longer allowed within the Westerlands, and a bounty shall be placed upon his head.”

Jaime then bowed deeply, gritting his teeth behind his perfect smile as he kissed Rhyaenna’s ring, sitting down so that Joanna could have her turn. He watched and listened as Joanna repeated virtually the same thing he had said, even kissing Rhyaenna’s ring.

House Lannister, by marriage and oath, was once again sworn to House Targaryen; but only the gods knew how long that would last.

“It’s time for the bedding!” One of the Lords suddenly yelled, a chant of which was picked up by the other lords.

“Time for the bedding!” they chanted. “Time for the bedding!”

Corren had explained that in Westeros, the bedding was both a public and private event. Some lords demanded public bedding where they watched the couple consummate their wedding, to make sure all bore witness to the event. Other times, the couple was left for their own desires and choices; unfortunately, because of the tense political atmosphere, the former was going to happen.

Somehow, someway, both couples knew this was to be, although Rhyaenna neither confirmed nor denied it. Since Jaime was the proper heir to his House—although legally now, he was the Lord after displacing Tyrion—he was to be first.

The couple was lead to separate chambers to change, while a handful of the highest-ranked lords and ladies were taken to the bedding chamber. Rhyaenna watched as the Septon blessed the bed, her heart aching for what Missandei was about to go through; yet, she knew that her friend was strong and wouldn’t be afraid of anything. Thankfully though, long, thick curtains surrounded the bed, giving the couple some privacy. The white sheets on the bed would be used to show that Jaime did in fact claim Missandei’s virginity if anyone opposed the wedding.

Down a hall, another chamber was being prepared for Joanna and Norenno for their turn, as they were to wait rather than watch this bedding.

Jaime appeared, dressed in loose trousers and a simple linen shirt, his Westerland friends shouting of crass jokes and bold claims. Jaime stood on one side of the bed and waited, the sound of girls giggling and laughing swiftly following behind him as several noble ladies led in four lords who carried in Missandei, although the young woman looked less than pleased as she was put down.

“May the jogs grant you plenty of heirs of your body,” the Septon said.

Missandei said nothing and instead crawled into the bed, Jaime following behind her as he took off his shirt. The couple said nothing, only glanced at each other then back to the long shadows on the other side of the curtains.

“We should… We should get it over with,” Jaime whispered. “I won’t hurt you; I’ll try to be as quick and gentle as possible.”

“You act as if I should fear this,” Missandei replied. “I am the daughter of an Unsullied, I fear nothing.”

Before Jaime would react, Missandei pulled at the strings of her silk nightgown. His eyes widened as the fabric fell away, revealing her perfect naked form in the low candlelight. Jaime’s heart leaped in his throat as his eyes roamed over her, taking in her round breasts, flat stomach, toned thighs, and flawless skin. But Missandei was not done with him. Reaching over, she grabbed Jaime by the waist and pulled him toward her, laying back as she pulled him on top of her.

Jaime’s heart was beating so loudly in his chest that Jaime swore that she could hear it. With trembling hands, he reached down to undo and take off his trousers. He froze as Missandei reached down, grasping his cock in her hand, feeling him.

“You’re not that large, are you?” Missandei commented. “But then again you are soft, you have to get hard if this is going to work.”

Jaime’s face turned bright red. Noble ladies of Westeros would never talk about men’s body parts like this, who in the hell had he just married?

Slowly, Missandei’s hand began to move, sliding up and down Jaime’s shaft, massaging his cock to stimulate him. Try as he might, Jaime couldn’t fight against how good it felt, to have a woman’s hands around his cock rather than his own.

‘No,’ Jaime thought. ‘My wife’s hands, rather than some random whore, sent by my Uncle to claim my own maidenhead.’

Missandei’s hand continued to move, and Jaime couldn’t stop a low moan rumbled in his throat as his cock began to harden and lengthen. After a couple of moments, Missandei withdrew her hand and laid back, her legs spread.

“Well?” she said.

Jaime bit his bottom lip, his hand reaching down to grip himself as he got into position. Slowly, he began to push himself into her, her velvet walls feeling impossibly tight as Jaime entered her body; moving carefully as to not hurt her. Jaime felt the internal resistance and grit his teeth, pulling his hips back before sharply shoving them forward.

Missandei jumped, grunting in surprise as she felt her inner wall break, her blood dripping onto the sheets.

“We can stop now,” Jaime said. “You’ve spilled your blood, that’s all that matters.”

Missandei shook her head. “You need… to spill your seed inside me, or else the marriage can be undone, that’s what you Westerosi believe, do you not?”

Jaime bit his bottom lip, the shadows of the people watching them, seeing only shapes and movement. ‘ _You’re a lion_ ,’ Jaime told himself, remembering the words of his Uncle. ‘ _Be a Lion_.’

Slowly, Jaime began to move his hips. His strokes were gentle, careful, casual almost; he didn’t want to hurt this girl, after all, they were married now. Missandei laid under him, still as stone, and that was how both would have stayed had not the pleasure began to take hold.

It began with Jaime’s space increased, his grip on the pillows tightening as he felt the pleasure build within him. Missandei felt it took, her own hips dipping down invulnerably, her hands slowly reaching up to hold onto Jaime’s sides.

The bed began to creak as Jaime’s thrusts became faster and faster, Missandei’s breathing coming quicker, almost melting into soft cries. Her grip on Jaime’s waist became tighter, her thighs rising and spreading to give him more room. Pressure began to build within Missandei’s groin, perspiration beading upon both their bodies as the creaking grew louder and louder.

Then, as Jaime pushed into her body one last time, he finally erupted. Jaime’s body tensed, shuddering as he bellowed like the roar of a lion; his cock being pulled deeply into Missandei’s body as he poured into her. Missandei herself didn’t cry out in release, but she did utter a strangled yelp as she fell back against the overly stuffed pillows and blankets.

For a moment the world was frozen, the two of them staring deeply into the other’s eyes, neither breathing; neither moving. It was these same hazel eyes that held Jaime captive when he first saw him, the young Lord slowly reaching down to trail his fingers against her cheek.

However, the moment was broken by the sound of people clapping, their ‘act’ of consummating the marriage had been done with dignity, and Jaime’s roar as he reached his climax showed he was virile.

But it became Joanna and Norenno’s turn, the opposite happened.

For starters, rather than being carried in, Joanna had to be dragged in. The young Lioness had tried to flee, only to be grabbed by Vyreo and Corren, the two men holding the bucking and wiggling girl as they dragged her into the bedchamber she was to share with Norenno.

“Let me go!” Joanna yelled as she was dropped onto the bed. “Let me go, right now!”

“Remember your Oath!” Vyreo hissed into Joanna’s ear. “If it was up to me, your head would be sent to your Uncle on a spike.”

Joanna replied by turning her head and spitting at him, although it was the timely grab of Corren that prevented Vyreo from backhanding the girl. Norenno arrived at the chamber dressed in black trousers and no shirt, his skin on full display to reveal he possessed golden tattoos upon his chest, arms, and back. Joanna did the only thing that she could think of, the only thing that she swore never to do, she began to pray.

The Septon blessed the bed just as he had done with Jaime and Missandei’s bed, only this time a larger crowd had gathered to watch this bedding. Joanna’s face was pale as she looked frantically around for Jaime, for anyone she knew. She wanted her brother, she wanted her mother, she needed someone to comfort her.

Norenno saw this, the young Warrior sensed his now wife’s distress and turned to face the gathered people. “Get. Out!” He bellowed in thickly accented Common Tongue.

Everyone froze, looking at each other nervously. “W-What?”

“Get! Out!” Norenno repeated, even shoving the Septon and several men towards the door.

No one knew what to do, everyone was shocked, and looked to Rhyaenna for guidance. The Princess looked to Norenno and gave him a small nod, below walking out of the door, the others taking the signal. Slowly, one by one, they left the chamber until only Joanna and Norenno were alone.

Joanna turned her terrified eyes to Norenno, for the first time the daughter of the first Female Knight of Westeros was terrified to her very soul.

Norenno ignored her, and instead took off his boots, then began to take off his trousers, only to change his mind and keep them on. Joanna trembled as she watched Norenno slowly walk to her, his massive form looming over her as he stood in front of her.

“Do not be frightened,” Norenno said in Naathi. “I will not harm you.”

The language was foreign to the Girl, and Joanna thought that he was threatening her. When Norenno reached out to touch one of her golden curls, Joanna slapped his hands away.

“Do not touch me, Monster!” she yelled in Common tongue.

Norenno’s understanding of the Common Tongue was rough, and all he understood was ‘touch me’. So, Norenno leaned forward to try and kiss her, only for Joanna to fall back on the bed and pull out a knife, the weapon she had strapped to her thigh. She pressed it against his throat, Norenno looking at both her and the knife with an amused expression.

“I know how to use this!” Joanna threatened, trying to force herself to stop trembling. “Touch me and I’ll kill you!”

Norenno’s face twitched, a smile splitting his face as he tossed back his head and laughter before reaching behind Joanna and grabbing a pillow.

“Goodnight,” Norenno said in Naathi, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes.

Joanna scrambled to get up, pointing the dagger on his side, pressing it against his ribs. “I’ll cut you… I’ll make you bleed. How will your Princess like her treaty when I deliver her, your head.”

Norenno chuckled at the soft tickling of the blade. “You’re tickling me,” he said in Naathi before adding in Common Tounge. “Go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep!” Joanna spat at him.

And Norenno did just that. The sound of his soft snoring filling the chamber.

“What the fuck…” Joanna said, shocked. “Did you just fall asleep on me? How dare you go to sleep?!”

No answer.

Joanna wanted to stab him, she wanted to plunge her dagger into his heart and deliver it on a platter to this Dragon Princess. But she was captive, she couldn’t do anything without the people of King’s Landing paying for it.

 _‘And yet… he didn’t force himself upon me,’_ Joanna thought, watching Norenno sleep. _‘Could he be just like me in this? A pawn to be used in a chess game, not of our choosing?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was the LONGEST chapter I've written, it's over 7k words! I wrestled a lot with what to do with Joanna and Jaime. I believe that children are innocent in the crimes of their parents, but at the same time, House Lannister did have to pay for all they've done. From now on, House Lannister will no longer have "Pure Lion Blood" in their veins, but now they have Naathi Peaseant blood mixed in there, people that Tywin would choke if he knew married the children of his favorite children. 
> 
> BTW: Tyrion is NOT going to be happy when he hears what's happened, like at all!
> 
> That being said, what did you guys think? Were you alright with this? Do you hate it? Do you want long chapters like this in the future? Also, what did you think of that moment between Jon and Dany?
> 
> I also updated the pages of these characters in my companion book!
> 
> **[Click here to read Jaime's Bio](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408488/chapters/48443621) **
> 
> **[Click here to read Joanna's Bio](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408488/chapters/48443633) **
> 
> **[Click here to read Missandei's Bio](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408488/chapters/48458576) **
> 
> **[Click here to read Norenno's Bio](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408488/chapters/48458603) **
> 
> Until next time!


	40. CHAPTER XXXVIII: PERSONAL DESIRES AND LEGACIES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly married couples get a chance to get to know each other. News also arrives from the Reach. Rhy plots her next move.

Jaime woke to the sensation of the weight in the bed shifting. Opening one eye, he watched as Missandei saw up, the early morning light shining through an open window, illumining her naked outline. Memories of last night came rushing back, the wedding at knife-point, Jaime betraying his uncle, the wedding feast… the wedding night. Glancing down at the dried blood on the sheets, the images of the couple consummating began to flash in Jaime’s mind; and blood began rushing back to another region of his body.

A much lower region.

Jaime didn’t know what to say or do to this woman, as this marriage was unlike anything the young Lord had ever known. Normally the couples would wake up, and after a light morning meal would spend hours ‘working to further the bloodline’, but that was for couples who were in love. He hardly knew this young woman, and she with him, was there anything they could say?

In the end, Jaime decided that he would be the one to break the icy river between them, and so he cleared his throat.

“Good—Good morning,” Jaime said. “Did you sleep… well?”

“Well enough,” Missandei replied, pulling her hair over her shoulder to braid it.

Jaime bit his tongue. “Do you… have something to do?”

“Her Grace no doubt will want my presence as she plans her next move,” Missandei replied.

Jaime rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t know the formalities of the morning after the wedding, but he was pretty sure that planning war wasn’t one of them.

“Do you… are you hungry? I can call the servants to bring us food to break our fast…” Jaime said.

Missandei looked over her shoulder at the man who was supposed to be her husband. Truthfully, Missandei wasn’t sure if she wanted to marry growing up. In Naath, they didn’t have marriage until her Father introduced the practice when he arrived with his men. There weren’t either men or women on Naath that caught Missandei’s eye, in fact, the young Warrioress would have been fine not marrying anyone. Now, under command of her Princess, Missandei was married to this… this… boy.

There was no other word for this Jaime Lannister. He looked too pink, so soft as if he had spent his childhood playing games and eating sweetmeats. Missandei spent her childhood playing games, but they were light-hearted war games. Missandei was raised to be a warrior, a fact that she possessed great pride in; and yet she was now bound for the rest of her life to this… boy.

“I will break my fast with Her Grace,” Missandei replied.

Jaime frowned. “You might serve the… the Princess… But you’re my wife now, and in Westeros that means… well… you’re apart of my family now.”

“Stop acting as if you care for me,” Missandei said bluntly. “This was a marriage of convenience. No more, no less.”

“You sound as if you believe that,” Jaime said. “My parents didn’t like each other when they first met. But slowly, after some time, their love grew to be unbreakable.”

“Until he abandoned her to return to his emotionally abusive sister carrying his child,” Missandei retorted. “You’re not helping your argument here.”

Jaime grew red in the face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! My father loved my mother, if he didn’t, then Joanna and I wouldn’t be here.”

Missandei rolled her eyes and rose from the bed, walking casually naked to the basin to wash her face. Jaime averted her eyes, but he knew that he shouldn’t… this was his wife, he shouldn’t be ashamed to gaze upon her naked beauty.

“Do you… need a robe or a dress… or… something to cover yourself with?” Jaime asked.

Missandei wiped the water from her face. “Why?”

“It’s um…” Jaime’s cheeks began to burn. “Well… I um… I was wonder…”

“You don’t like to see me naked?” Missandei asked.

Jaime’s face turned as red as a tomato. “I… um… well…”

Missandei wiped her hands on a towel and began to slowly walk to him. When she reached the bed, she crawled to him, her voice low and silky. “Do I make you… uncomfortable…?”

Jaime almost jumped out of his skin when she touched him, those slender fingers slipping under the blankets, lightly brushing his length. “N—No…”

Missandei smirked and took his hands, placing them on her breasts as she straddled his lap, letting him feel her inner heat. “So then this… this doesn't bother you…?”

Jaime was forcing himself to not look anywhere but her eyes, but the temptation was there. Her breasts fit perfectly within his palms, how he longed to caress them, to kiss them, to suckle on them. No, that’s not where Jaime wanted to kiss. The feel of her heat against him ad making Jaime hard, and there was no fighting that.

Missandei felt this too and reached down, boldly grasping his cock in her hands, feeling it harden further at her touch. She shouldn’t be doing this, Missandei knew, she shouldn’t be getting all… touchy-feely with this man. He was her husband by law only, there wasn’t any real feeling between them… right?

Jaime’s hands roamed over Missandei’s breasts, one of them sliding down her back, pulling her closer to him. His green eyes met hers, two people on opposites of the war sitting in a bed together, naked… It would take nothing for Jaime to lift her up, or for Missandei to lay back, pulling him on top of her; no one would question it.

A knock on the door shattered the moment, Missandei instantly pulling away. She didn’t look at Jaime as she walked to a nearby chair, picking up a robe and wrapping it around herself as if to block her husband from looking at her body. The door opened and a handmaiden stepped inside carrying a tray of food, but Missandei briskly hurried out of the room, her lip quivering.

While the handmaiden placed the food down and went to work cleaning up the bedchamber, Jaime knew that he needed to talk to someone. His mother was on the other side of the realm so that left only one person: his sister.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, inside Joanna and Norenno’s chamber, the Westerosi Lady awoke to an empty bed. Jonna’s green eyes swept the chamber, she even called Norenno’s name, but there was no answer. Something sticky on the sheets made Joanna look down, to which the sight of fresh blood greeted her.

Joanna’s stomach flipped as she pulled up her dress, looking for any sign of assault. Her worst nightmare was that, while she slept, the Naathi Warrior had forced himself upon her. But Joanna felt no pain in her groin, and her sleeping silk was as pure as snow.

‘ _So, what is the blood for…?_ ’ Joanna wondered, looking up at the sound of a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Joanna called out, her face melting in relief when she saw her brother enter. “Jaime!” She cried, leaping to her feet and rushing to him.

Jaime swept his sister into his arms, spinning her around and covering her face with kisses. “You’re alright! You’re alright! Did he hurt you? I swear by all the gods if he so much as harm a hair on your head…”

“No!” Joanna said, shaking her head. “Jaime, he didn’t harm me. He… he didn’t touch me last night…”

Jaime glanced behind her to the bed, frowning. “Then what’s the blood on the sheets for?”

“I don’t know,” Joanna replied. “I found that this morning.”

Jaime thought it over. “He… he must have done that so it could be claimed you consummated your marriage. That way, you wouldn’t have to be forced to sit through public bedding as I did.”

Joanna’s jaw dropped. “What… What did you say?”

Jaime’s shoulders dropped. “I guess the ‘Princess’ couldn’t risk the heir of Casterly Rock contesting his forced marriage. She ordered public bedding for my bride and me, although we had some… we had some privacy.”

“And…” Joanna’s voice trembled. “Did you…?”

“I had no choice,” Jaime answered firmly.

“I’m not going to judge you brother,” Joanna said, gently touching his shoulder. “You had no choice, as you said.”

Jaime looked down at the floor then back to his sister, unable to hide his shame. “I liked it… sister.”

Joanna frowned, confused. “What?”

“I liked… the consummation,” Jaime repeated. “I liked… I liked being with her. I had no choice but to… to finish… she could be carrying my heir.”

“By which the Princess has even more control of you now,” Joanna whispered. “Of us both… she believes that her Soldier consummated our marriage as well, she holds the futures of both Casterly Rock and Tarth in her hands.”

“What would Mother say…?” Jaime asked. “What would she think of us…?”

Neither of them knew how to respond to that question. Growing up, Brienne was a constant presence in their lives, after all, it was she who agreed for Joanna to train as a night. However, as they got older, Brienne began to close herself off to the world, seeing her children only at dinners and formal events. Joanna believed that it was because of how she and her brother resembled their Father, thus forcing Brienne to relive the abandonment of the man she loved.

“I don’t know,” Joanna said, lifting her chin. “But we are Lannister’s, and we will not let this small matter break us. Lions always prevail.”

Jaime nodded. “You’re right. We will dance to the tune this Princess plays.”

“All the while plot for ways to cut our strings,” Joanna finished, smirking as she hugged her brother.

At the same time, on the other side of the castle, Jon knocked on Daenerys’s door for what felt like the thousandth time. The northern Lord hadn’t seen his former Lover since the War Meeting, and he needed to talk to her desperately. During the wedding, Daenerys had shut herself into the chambers given to her, Grey Worm and his men guarding the door. The only reason why Jon was even allowed near Daenerys’s chambers was that he had to lie to the Unsullied Commander, telling Grey Worm and Rhyaenna had told him to bring her mother to her.

Jon’s daughter had said no such thing, but Jon was desperate. He was horrified at the thought that he had ruined his progress with Daenerys, even when they had come so far.

“If Her Grace allows you in, I will too,” Grey Worm said in his thickly accented Common Tongue. “If she does not, I will throw you down the hall.”

Jon swallowed his anger against the Unsullied Commander, who Daenerys always kept closer than Jon himself. Jon knew that the two weren’t having an affair, Grey Worm was married and a father himself; but Jon couldn’t help but feel jealous. Grey Worm had been with Daenerys since virtually the very beginning, and even after two decades he still came back to her. No doubt Grey Worm had spent years searching for what happened to Daenerys after Jon killed her, now that she was alive there was no way Grey Worm would let that happen again.

“Daenerys…” Jon whispered against the door, knocking on it. “Please… open up?”

Again, there was no answer, and Jon finally gave up. The Northern Lord left Daenerys’s chambers before Grey Worm could follow through with his promise, as Jon knew better than to believe it was just a plain threat.

Although he rarely cried, Jon felt tears prick his eyes as he wandered the halls, hatred building with himself.

He shouldn’t have rushed her. He shouldn’t have tried to have sex with her in that corner, but wasn’t that were they were headed? In the past, it was Jon who refused Daenerys’s advances, now it was the other way around. Jon wanted her, he needed her. Jon had seen his two great loves be killed before his very eyes, and now that he had gone back, he would do everything possible to bring her back to him.

_‘But how can I if she keeps on refusing to open up to me?’_ Jon thought angrily. _‘How can I—’_

“Father?” A familiar voice said behind Jon.

Jon turned around to see Rhyaenna standing there, Daenys at her side. Every time Jon looked at her, this… this being that he had created with Daenerys, Jon hated himself. Not only had he killed his former lover, but he had killed their child, and that was something that Jon would never be able to forgive himself for. And yet, strangely, Rhyaenna did not hold that against him.

Anymore at least. Jon still remembered when she threatened to slit his throat in that cave.

This woman was the product of his and Daenerys’s love, there had to be a future for them somehow.

“Yes, Rhyaenna?” Jon said. “Can I help you?”

“I was on my way to the aviary,” Rhyaenna replied. “I’m waiting for letters from my generals in the Reach. It’s our next attack point, remember?”

Jon nodded. “Aye, I remember. It’s just… strange to think about, you know?”

“What is?” Rhyaenna asked, gesturing for him to walk with her.

Jon fell into step with her. “Hearing you talking about war. In my time, Lady’s were taught to sew and sing. They didn’t wage wars.”

“And yet that’s what my ancestors did,” Rhyaenna replied, meaning the two Targaryen Warrior-Wives of Aegon I.

“And yet they did,” Jon said, nodding. “Well… both of our ancestors.”

“I’ve been thinking about things, Father,” Rhyaenna said.

“About?” Jon asked.

“The type of Queen I’d be,” Rhyaenna replied. “If I’ll be a Cersei Lannister. An Alysanne. A Rhaenys. Or a Visenya.”

“You shouldn’t want to be like any of those women,” Jon said. “You should be you: a Rhyaenna.”

“But who I am… is built from them… right?” Rhyaenna asked, combing her fingers through Daenys’s thick fur.

“In a way,” Jon replied. “But that’s not all you are. You are your own person, and only you can decide the type of queen you’d be.”

“Father?” Rhyaenna said in a tiny voice. “Can… Can I ask you… why?”

Jon knew this type of question was coming soon. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispered. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was the right thing. I never wanted the throne, yet people were trying to force it upon me. I should have… I should have been there for her. She needed me, so many times she begged me to be there, but I turned my back on her. I betrayed her more than anyone else, and I allowed people to twist my way of thinking.” He turned to his daughter. “I swear if I had known about you, I never would have done it. I would have found another way, but I never would willingly murder my own child. I wanted children almost as much as your mother did… but I fear one thing: having bastards.”

Rhyaenna inclined her head. “What do you mean?”

“In Westeros, having bastards is seen as a shameful thing,” Jon explained. “For the children, that is. The men who father them normally face no consequences, instead, the children are normally forced to carry that shameful burden. I remember the hatred in Lady Catelyn’s eyes whenever she looked at me, I remember enduring her verbal abuse. She spent years telling her children that I was ‘just a bastard, nothing more than a bastard’, trying to turn them away from me.”

“The joke was on her then,” Rhyaenna snorted. “You were the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. You outranked her and her stupid children.”

Jon’s lip twitched as he fought against laughter. That was exactly something that Arya would say. “Rank doesn’t always mean everything, Rhyaenna. I believe a man who gains his position in life through merit, not just inheritance. For too long, there are people in power who do not deserve it while the smallfolk suffer, surely, we can do something to change that, right?”

Rhyaenna nodded, letting his words settle on her. However, she looked up as a messenger came running to her.

“Your Grace,” the man said, bowing and holding out the letter. “This just came.”

Rhyaenna dismissed him before unfurling the letter, swiftly scanning over it before turning to her father. “We need to call a meeting, now.”

* * *

 

It didn’t take them long to gather in the self-declared ‘war-room’, Rhyaenna sitting at the head of the table of course. Jon snuck a glance at Daenerys, frowning when he saw her dressed in all black as if in mourning.

“This letter just arrived from our General’s in the Reach,” Rhyaenna explained to the group in front of her. “It says that, while they’ve made camp near a village called Old Oak and are not far from a prominent road called the Ocean Road.”

“What’s the problem then?” Vyreo asked.

“They are being picked off by the men serving someone called Bronn?” Rhyaenna replied, looking to her parents. “Do you know who that is?”

Jon made a face. “Bronn was a man who served Tyrion. He got Highgarden after the Tyrells were killed by Cersei. From what I know he’s a sellsword… or something.”

“And I’m guessing this Highgarden is important?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Very,” Corren interrupted. “Highgarden is known as the Heart of Chivalry and Honor in the Seven Kingdoms. For a sellsword to have such a prize in Westeros is quite insulting.”

Rhyaenna frowned, holding her chin to think. “If he is a former sellsword, then that means he’s dangerous and will do anything to keep his prize. From what you told me, the Reach is normally used to feed all the Seven Kingdom’s, there is no way this Bronn is letting that go.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Missandei asked.

“We have to take it from him of course,” Rhyaenna said.

“However, I would suggest you not do it with Fire and Blood,” Corren said. “Highgarden is a massive and beautiful structure, it’d be a crime against the gods to ruin it.”

“Right, so we’ll have to be careful then,” Rhyaenna said. “Corren, are there any House’s nearby we can talk too? House Tyrell was loyal to my Mother, perhaps when they hear that I’m coming then they’ll be scrambling to get to us. How far are we from Highgarden?”

Corren frowned. “Let me think… it’s about 900 miles from King’s Landing to Highgarden, and about 800 miles from King’s Landing to Casterly Rock. Can someone find me a map?”

It wasn’t too hard to find one in the former study, and Corren quickly spread it on the table.

“Let me see…” Corren murmured. “The Ocean Road connects the Westerlands to the Reach, and thus runs directly from Casterly Rock to Highgarden. I’d say then, it’s roughly about 300 miles? 400 at the most.”

“How long will it take us to reach Highgarden?” Rhyaenna asked.

“Horse’s can travel about 25 miles if we let them rest,” Corren replied. “If we road hard, then we could travel closer to 50.”

“We could travel a hundred on the backs of dragons,” Daenerys pointed out. “Be there in four days, wait for the armies to catch up?”

“That’ll take them too long…” Rhyaenna said, frowning. “And I don’t want to be a sitting duck out there. We longer we wait, the thinner our army becomes in the Reach.” She looked at Vyreo. “Send a raven to the General’s and tell them to hold the village, but do not harm the smallfolk. If I hear of so much as a single rape, I will behead the man myself.”

Vyreo nodded, hurrying to do as she said.

Rhyaenna then turned to her self-made Small Council. “As for the rest of us, we need to pack. We leave at first light.”

* * *

 

Jaime found Missandei in their ‘shared’ chambers stuffing her clothes into a crate. Well, it was supposed to be their chambers, after the wedding Missandei’s things had been moved to Jaime’s rooms but they had only been there for a day.

The young Lord still had no idea what to think or say to this woman who held the title of his wife and ‘Lady of Casterly Rock.’

“What are you doing?” Jaime blurted out.

Missandei didn’t stop her work. “Packing.”

“For?” Jaime asked. “Are you… changing chambers?”

“No,” Missandei replied. “I’m leaving as if the rest of House Targaryen.”

Rather than being happy about this, Jaime was confused as to why he felt disappointment knot itself in his gut. “Oh? You… You are? Why?”

Missandei stopped what she was doing and turned to him, frowning. She didn’t know how much she could tell this man. They were married and in Westerosi culture that meant he practically owned her, but Missandei was not one to be tamed.

“Just know that we are leaving,” Missandei finally said. “Although a small group of Unsullied will remain to watch you. Don’t think about sending ravens to your Uncle and mother. Everything you write will be read beforehand.”

Jaime held up his hands as if surrendering. “I am loyal to House Targaryen, remember? I bent the knee.”

“So, you say,” Missandei said, narrowing her eyes before turning back to her work. “Oh, and don’t think about sending coded messages to your sister either. My Father taught me almost all the codes in Essos, and if I could break them, I can break anything you might come up with.”

Jaime’s heart froze. “What… What do you mean about sending letters to Joanna? She… She’s not coming with you…”

Missandei said nothing, she didn’t even stop her folding.

“My sister is not going with that… that Dragon Princess into an active warzone!” Jaime exclaimed. “She could be killed! Her place is here, in Casterly Rock!”

“Her place is with her husband, and my brother is going, thus she is going,” Missandei replied coolly.

“Then by that logic, you belong here,” Jaime protested. “You’re my wife, and as your husband, I order you to stay here.”

Missandei whipped around, pressing a dagger that was up to her sleeve against his throat. It would be so easy for her to slice his throat, but she stayed her hand. Once again, the world was frozen, time stilled as they stared deeply into the other’s eyes.

There was a pull between them, neither could deny that, although they knew it would be in their best interests to fight it. And yet…

Slowly, Missandei lowered the knife, Jaime’s hands sliding around her waist, pulling her close against him. He leaned in for a kiss but Missandei raised her hand, blocking his lips with her fingers.

“You mean nothing to me,” she said bluntly. “This marriage means nothing to me. What we are about to do, means nothing to me. Understood?”

Jaime swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

“Good,” Missandei said, only to turn her head as he once again tried to kiss her.

Kissing was supposed to be for lovers, and Missandei did not feel that way about Jaime in the slightest. However, she couldn’t deny that the consummation felt good, and she hungered to feel it again.

Jaime, however, got the message and stopped trying to kiss her, however, he did reach up and brush her midnight-black hair out of her eyes, those wonderful, hazel eyes… Pulling her close, Jaime lifted Missandei in his arms and began to carry her towards the direction of the bed. If he was going to pretend to be a puppet that danced for Rhyaenna and her Conquest, Jaime could at least get some pleasure out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you loved the chapter!
> 
> So it seems that Jaime and Missandei aren't wasting any time, but it's more like a "friends with benifits" type of situation, rather than love. Love will come later, in fact real feelings will grow for them faster than for Joanna and her hubby. But I'm not going to give you guys any more spoilers!
> 
> Next chapter Rhyaenna and her group meet some people long-thought dead that has another tie to Daenerys, so I'd LOVE to hear your opinions on that!
> 
> Also, another thing: I don't ever call out people who comment on this book, I want to hear what you have to say, but I have recently reached my limit on this Jon/Dany bashing. THIS. IS. A. JONERYS. BOOK! They are going to get back together, it's going to take some time, but they are going to get back together; that's the POINT of a Jonerys book. That being said, I'm not just going to throw them into bed together. Obviously Daenerys still has PTS of what Jon did to her, and she needs time to heal: BUT. THEY. ARE. STILL. GOING. TO. GET. TOGETHER. MUCH. MUCH. LATER.
> 
> Anyway, that's my small rant on something I've noticed that's been driving me a little crazy. Oh! Before I close this out, I'm proud to announce that I've updated Rhy's Bio that includes all the pictures of her outfits & weaponry as of late, so go check it out!
> 
> **[Click here to see Rhyaenna's full bio](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408488/chapters/48410899) **
> 
> P.S. WE ARE 15 CHAPTERS AWAY FROM THE FINALE OF THIS BOOK!! Book 2 will be out almost immediately when this book is finished, but please be on the lookout for more info coming soon.
> 
> Toodles!


	41. CHAPTER XXXIX: A LIONESS’S CURIOUSTY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joanna and Norenno bond.
> 
> Missandei reveals news about she and Jaime.
> 
> Rhyaenna and Corren meet some old deadly allies of Daenerys.

 The blazing rays of the sun beat down upon Joanna’s back, causing bright red blotches to appeared the Westerosi Noblewoman’s skin. Joanna was flushed, her blonde hair plastered to her face from the sweat that dripped down her face. She road in the center of a thick band of Unsullied and Naathi warriors, swords at their sides to prevent her from escaping.

This was only one of the three different groups that the Dragon Princess had traveling to Highgarden, as she had split up her forces since they left Casterly Rock. Joanna had lost count of how many days they had been traveling among the Ocean Road, then again it could have been several moons for all she knew. Every day was like the same: their group got up and cleared their camp, they’d ride for hours—stopping only for short breaks—then make camp when the sun was setting.

The Dragon Princess herself wasn’t in this group, but Jonna’s ‘husband’ and his sister were. Rhyaenna’s instructions had been clear: Joanna was always to be watched and if she made any attempt at escape or someone tried to rescue her, then her white throat was to be opened.

Joanna snuck a glance at Norenno, watching as he rode in front of her with his sister. The two of them were chatting in that flowery tongue of theirs, ignoring Joanna save for an occasional glance behind them to make sure she was still there. Joanna would have loved someone to talk too, but she refused to fraternize with the enemy. These people were invaders, they had attacked her home and stripped it of its wealth and power, all in the same of some woman she didn’t know and wanted to kill.

“What are you talking about?” Joanna blurted out, unable to be silent anymore.

Norenno and his sister glanced at each other as if weighing the pros and cons of answering her.

“I know you both speak the Common Tongue,” Joanna snapped. “So, tell me: What are you two talking about.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Missandei replied. “But we were talking about my last moon blood.”

Joanna’s heart froze in her chest. “H-How many moons have passed since we left Casterly Rock?”

“About two,” Missandei replied. “And I am late. But like I said, it’s none of your business.”

Blood was roaring in Joanna’s ears as she slowly connected everything together. So, this was why the Dragon Princess had forced her brother’s new wife to come. If Norenno’s sister was true with child, then Rhyaenna basically held the future of House Lannister in her hands.

Joanna wanted to slap her brother, no, she wanted to strangle him. She remembered him telling her how much he liked consummating his marriage to Norenno’s sister on the night of their wedding. If he liked that, then Joanna could only imagine what he and this dark-skinned outsider had been doing the night before they left. No. No, Joanna was wrong. She shouldn’t blame Jaime for what was happening. She blamed the Dragon Princess, she blamed Norenno’s sister. That child wasn’t a Lannister, it would never be a Lannister, it wasn’t Westerosi.

Almost as soon as Joanna had finished her thought, shame-filled her cheeks.

Her brother would be shocked and humiliated of her if Brienne learned of what Joanna was thinking. Brienne had raised her children to treat everyone with respect, no matter their station or background.

“If… If you are late…” Joanna said softly, looking to her husband. “Then that means we must consummate our marriage as well…”

Norenno looked away, clearly uncomfortable at the thought. He had promised Joanna that he wouldn’t come to her bed unless she asked. “No, we do not.”

“But your Princess will be looking for an heir from the both of us,” Joanna said.

Norenno frowned. “She is my Queen, but she had no control over my bedchamber.”

Missandei glanced at her brother a moment before spurring her horse forward, barking an order at the gathered Unsullied and Naathi to give the couple a little space.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Joanna asked, looking to Norenno.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Norenno replied.

Joanna played with the reigns of her horse’s bridle. “I thought… when I heard that I was to marry you…”

“That I’d be some type of savage who’d force himself upon you?” Norenno finished.

Joanna looked away, her cheeks burning.

“Why do you Westerosi hate those, not like you?” Norenno asked.

Joanna glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“People who do not live in castles or wear silk dresses,” Norenno explained. “Why do you turn up your noses at us?”

“I… I do not know…” Joanna answered.

Norenno looked to one of the Naath warrior women and pointed to her. “She and her family escaped from slavers.” He pointed to a man. “He was an Unsullied, do you know why they are here?”

Joanna shook her head. “No.”

“Because they believe and want a better future,” Norenno said. “Our Queen’s Mother tried to do that, she freed slaves, more people than you can imagine.”

“Slavery is illegal in Westeros, though,” Joanna argued back.

“But would they had been welcome if they wanted to make a life here?” Norenno asked.

Joanna opened her mouth, then closed it again. She was going to say that anyone could be whatever they wanted, but she knew that wasn’t true. In Westeros, if you were born in a certain status then you stayed there. There was no moving up unless you had the backing of someone powerful.

“But isn’t that everywhere?” Joanna asked.

Norenno shook his head. “My Queen learns from her Mother. I hear from my Father about Her Grace’s plans, how she wants to help your smallfolk.”

Joanna rolled her eyes. “No one helps the smallfolk without wanting something in return.”

Norenno frowned. “Her Grace is the daughter of a Queen who lost everything, who grew up in poverty, was abused by her brother, yet managed to become a true Dragon. Her Grace learns and has new ideas.”

Joanna said nothing and but she had to admit she was curious. The smallfolk were always at the mercy of whoever their liege lord was, with the majority of them being treated quite poorly. Perhaps she could see what this Dragon Princess had it mind…

* * *

 Rhyaenna’s soft, breathy moans of pleasure filled Corren’s ears as the Dornishman moved within her. His wife’s hips were dipped down in that his cock would always stroke her most intimate part, her velvety walled wrapped around him ever so nicely. The couple was under a large Oaktree, having ridden their horses a little far off from their party for this… intimate time.

“I’m glad you are no longer sick, my love…” Corren whispered to Rhyaenna, pushing up more of her dress to get it out of the way.

Rhyaenna’s head tilted back as she slid her hands down Corren’s back, her legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close. “I was only ill for those couple of mornings, nothing too serious…”

Corren chuckled and leaned down, burying his face into her neck as he rolled them over, putting Rhyaenna into his lap. Thrusting up into her as Rhyaenna rocked her hips, it wasn’t long before they both reached their peak. Rhyaenna’s cry of release echoed through the empty valley, the young Princess slumping against her husband as she panted to catch her breath.

“Glad to see you aren’t as ravenous as you were before…” Corren chuckled, panting softly. “Vyreo and I were beginning to worry if you would take a whole harem.”

Rhyaenna couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “You know… that’s not a bad idea…”

Corren frowned. “My Love, I might be fine with sharing you with Vyreo and he with me; but I doubt we both will be happy with you sharing your bed with countless other men.”

“Why not?” Rhyaenna asked, tossing her head haughtily. “Men do it all the time.”

Corren smirked and reached down, sliding his fingers inside her, loving how Rhyaenna’s inner walls tightened around him and the sound she made as she moaned.

“Because you have all the cock you will ever want between Vyreo and me,” Corren whispered, moving his fingers.

Rhyaenna’s eyelids fluttered with pleasure, her moans beginning to grow louder… only for them to stop as she opened her eyes with a frown. “Corren, stop.”

Corren stopped and looked at her, confused. “What? What’s wrong?”

Rhyaenna didn’t answer as she rose from his lap, fixing her dress as she looked at the horizon.

A lone figure sat upon a horse, but slowly that figure became two, then four, then sight, then sixteen. It doubled by the moment and before long, the figures filled the thin line, stretching out as wide as the eye could see.

“How far are we from the horses?” Rhyaenna whispered.

“If we run, we can make it,” Corren whispered.

Rhyaenna gave him a small nod, glanced one more time to the people on horseback, then they ran for their lives.

Rhyaenna could hear war cries, of shrieks and whoops, and as she neared her horse something clicked in her mind. “Corren, you go, I’ll stay behind.”

Corren’s jaw dropped. “What? No!”

“Corren, listen to me, they have to be Dothraki,” Rhyaenna said. “Mother said she didn’t know what happened to them after she died. Now we know that they stayed here in Westeros, or at least some did. Think of what we could do if they joined us.”

Corren frowned, he didn’t like this, he knew that this was a bad idea. He had heard horror stories of the Dothraki, of what they did, he was leaving his wife at the mercy of these horse lords.

“Trust me,” Rhyaenna said resting her hands on his shoulder. “Please.”

Corren pulled Rhyaenna into his arms for a deep kiss before he swung himself onto his horse. He thundered away, just as the Dothraki surrounded his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm back! so sorry for being gone for so long.
> 
> I know this chapter is short but we have a much longer one coming soon!
> 
> Also, I wonder if anyone is catching these hints I'm dropping about a couple of characters and their 'ovens'.


	42. NEW BOOK!!!!!

**Hey guys!**

**I know I should be writing on the next chapter of this book, but I wanted to let you in on some AWESOME news! After some thought, I've decided to write another Game of Thrones FanFiction that will be purely Jonerys. Although Jon and Dany's relationship is a central part of this story, they aren't the main characters.**

**So, I've created a Jonerys FanFiction to put them front and center.**

**Please note that the book is NOT APART OF THIS SERIES.**

**I originally had the idea to make a little novella that would about Jon and Daenerys's lives after they thought the other was dead. Jon would be with the Wildlings. Daenerys would be in Meereen raising their daughter. But that would be 20-years worth of content and was just to complicated.**

**So, I decided to make a separate book that's all about them.**

**Again note: THIS NEW FANFICTION IS NOT APART OF THE DAUGHTER OF DRAGONS AND WOLVES SERIES.**

**Instead, this book goes back to the first episode of the accursed Season 8 and gives more depth of the characters. However, the key feature of this book is that Daenerys LEAVES Westeros after fighting the Night King.**

**I'm still going to be writing on this book, don't worry, Daughter of Dragons and Wolves isn't do ANYWHERE.**

* * *

  **SUMMARY**

_When Daenerys Targaryen arrived at Winterfell, she hoped to be welcomed as the North’s greatest ally against the Army of the Dead. Instead, she is greeted by stony silence and hate-filled eyes. Although Daenerys tries to win over the people, all they see is the Daughter of the Mad King. Things go bad to worse when it’s revealed Jon is the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, and allies that should have been on her side turn on Daenerys._

_After the Night King is defeated and the next step must be chosen, a revelation comes to Daenerys: Westeros was never her home. She was a fool to believe it would be. Rather than allow herself to be used by those who hate her, Daenerys declares she’ll return to her true kingdom and anyone who wishes to come with her is welcome._

_But the North is the greater fool if they believe that Cersei would leave them alone after Daenerys is gone. When the Lioness turns her vengeance upon them, they are forced to flee to the only person that might give them aid; but will the Dragon Queen they ran away help or be their destruction?_

* * *

[ **CLICK ME TO GO TO THE NEW FANFICTION** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777543) 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this new chapter, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I was on the fence on writing this, but I had to because I knew that I wasn't the only one unsatisfied with Season 8. Daenerys will always be my Queen and say what you want about her but D&D did her wrong. After watching a Youtube video about Drogon taking Dany to either Old Valyria or Volantis, I realized that Volantis had to be the most logical place as that was where the Red Priests thrive.
> 
> After hammering out the plot in less than a day, I began posting. Please don't hesitate to comment or like this chapter, although I would prefer your feedback as love to know what you think of the piece!
> 
> [CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178521) to read my 'Game of Thrones Seasons 8 Rewrite Fire' FanFiction: PACT OF ICE AND FIRE  
> [CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777543)to read my 'Game of Thrones Seasons 8 Rewrite Fire' FanFiction: BLOOD OF THE DRAGON  
> [CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669924) to read my 'The Boys' FanFiction: THE PRICE OF FREEDOM (VOL. 1)  
> [CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924283) to read my 'Game of Thrones Post-Season 8' FanFiction: DAUGHTER OF DRAGONS AND WOLVES  
> [CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408488) to read my 'Game of Thrones Post-Season 8' FanFiction: DAUGHTER OF DRAGON AND WOLVES - COMPANTION BOOK  
> [CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16848268) to read my 'Complete Game of Thrones Seasons 1 to 4 Rewrite' FanFiction: PRINCESS IN A BASTARD COURT  
> [CLICK HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626992) to read my 'Castlevania' FanFiction: HEIR OF LIGHT


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